


The Tyger

by fabricdragon



Series: Songs of Experience [1]
Category: James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Sebastian Moran, BDSM, Bisexual Male Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Change of Identity, Crossover Pairings, Demisexuality, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dubious Consent, False Identity, Food Kink, Friends With Benefits, Gay Male Character, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Knifeplay, M/M, Mental Instability, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Sebastian Moran, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Betrayal, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Scars, Tags May Change, mostly - Freeform, non graphic torture, tags changed to explicit because Moriarty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-09-23 07:51:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9646991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a Man called Alec Trevelyan-OO6-who was sent on a mission, and was captured.  M burned him in exchange for several more important assets and as far as the world knows he either died on a mission, or died under interrogation.Whipped and scarred, beaten but unbroken, Alec Trevelyan died in Serbia- and Sebastian Moran, the Tiger, was born.





	1. How the Tiger Got His Stripes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What Is Mine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9533915) by [SweetnessandLight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetnessandLight/pseuds/SweetnessandLight). 



Alec was thrown back into the cell. He’d given them a few pieces of information– nothing valuable, most of it long past any critical date– in exchange for a relief from the pain.  Of course, being thrown back into the freezing cell wasn’t overmuch improvement: the cold numbed the wounds and slowed the blood loss, but he was already worried about his hands and feet with how tight the cuffs were– the cold wasn’t helping. He didn’t so much fall asleep as pass out.

They started again the next day with the whip. His captor took great delight, in between blows, to remind him that his masters had burned him–sold him for information and agent exchanges–because he had failed. No one would be coming for him, so why bother protecting their information?

“Because I’m better than they are,” he snarled.  It was a mistake: he shouldn’t talk to them, not even to retort, but he was so tired.

“Loyalty is such a useless concept,” the chief interrogator laughed.

A voice he’d never heard before spoke lightly from the hallway– it wasn’t identifiably Serbian, or Russian; the accent was utterly neutral, for all that the language was flawless– “On the contrary, loyalty is the only thing of value.”

Footsteps turned and came into the room; whoever he was, he was wearing expensive boots and he was light on his feet. Alec couldn’t lift his head anymore, so he didn’t try.

“Such stripes you’ve put on him.  Who was he?”

The lead interrogator spoke again but his voice was cautious, so whoever this was worried him. “British agent. He got caught and they sold him out in exchange for some of our other prisoners– he’s a failure.”

He heard a glove being pulled off, then a small finger traced a lash mark across his back; Alec didn’t say anything.

“And yet he hasn’t given you anything.  What a pity. Loyalty should be rewarded, not thrown away.”

“We will break him.”

The smaller man’s hand moved and lifted his chin up. He found himself looking at a very small man, with soft features. He blinked dizzily. The man carefully let his chin down instead of dropping it.

“No, I don’t think you will.”

Alec stared down at the smaller man’s boots, finding himself wishing he had boots, or even socks– he was always so cold.

“I want him,” the man said casually.

“What?” A Serbian voice, one Alec had heard only rarely: the man who ran this facility. “The spy?”

“You heard me. I want him,” the smaller man said and an amused edge crept into his voice. “Take him down, clean him up, and have him loaded into my car.  I also want anything you have on him.” 

“But… why?” The leader sounded so perplexed that Alec laughed despite himself. _Oh, yeah I was out of it…_

“It is funny, isn’t it, Tiger?” The man stroked down his back and it felt comforting somehow, even as he cried out in pain. He saw the little man wipe his bloody hand on the interrogators apron. _My God, who was he?_

“Gregor? Get him cleaned up and in my car. I’ll be in your office.”

No one moved until he was gone– then he was taken down rapidly and dragged to the infirmary.  He’d only been here once before, when they’d needed to stop the bleeding from a cut too deep, so it was bewildering to suddenly have a flurry of medical people treating his wounds.  He was given a shot of some kind of tranquilizer and his last thought was a distant marveling that they bandaged his wrists.

He came to, just a little, in a car.  He had his head on someone’s lap and they were stroking his hair. He was lying on a sheet, and it was warm…. He fell back into sleep.

He had vague bits of awareness: a car, a plane, a car again.  Someone touched his wrists and he called out for James, but instead of James’ slight Scottish burr, there was an Irish lilt making soothing noises.

He woke up.

For real, woke up.  He knew that he’d been kept under for a while, although he had no idea how long.  The biggest surprise was that he wasn’t restrained. He was in a comfortable bed, and there was sunlight– _honest to God sunlight_ – streaming in a window.  He rolled over without thinking onto his back and winced, but it wasn’t that bad…

So it had either been a while, or he was on pain meds, or both.

He sat up slowly. There was fruit and a thermos on a desk in the room, along with a file.  He went over, a bit unsteadily, and opened the thermos– it was full of tea, real tea.  The fruit was fresh, and the tea was warm, and there were pills in a bowl next to a bottle of water with a note saying “antibiotics and pain meds”. He took them; there wasn’t any point not to.

He sat there for a while, savoring the tea and the fruit, before he read the file.  It was his file, mostly from his captors, but some from MI6.  His name, his code designation, who and what he’d been traded for…  M’s sign off on his official trade.  Alec wondered what James had been told.

He lay back down in the warm comfortable bed.  He didn’t know how long he would be allowed the luxury, but he didn’t want to miss any of it. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen back asleep until the smell of food woke him up.

He opened his eyes to a tray next to the bed, with a real steak and a potato on it. He was so focused on that, that it took him a moment to realize the small, soft-looking man that had purchased him was sitting on the other side of it.

“You really look like a sleeping tiger, you know, when you’re lying sprawled on the bed. The stripes just add to it.”  He was speaking in English, with a faint Irish accent this time.

“May I eat?” Alec asked him cautiously.

He nodded and Alec set into the best steak of his life. It was all he could do not to moan.

“Your loyalty is admirable, if misplaced,” he said with a smile.

“You said loyalty is the only thing of value,” Alec said slowly.

“It’s true. I’m surprised you remember.” He looked at him thoughtfully. “Who was James?”

Alec froze. “A friend.”

“Is he still alive?”

“I- I hope so.”

The man nodded. “You were thrown away–sold–and I picked you up. You’re mine now.”

Alec looked the man over.  He was small and not very muscular, but there was a supreme confidence in the way he held himself, and his eyes…  “I still won’t tell you anything.”

“I don’t want your information; I want you.”

“What?”

“You were so loyal to a nation and a service that couldn’t even keep faith with you.” He shook his head slowly. “I could use a loyal man, and I won’t throw you away.”

“You… want me to work for you… but you don’t want my information?”

“Most of your information would have been changed, or secured, and its value goes down every minute anyway.  It’s not like they didn’t KNOW they tossed you to the wolves, and no one holds out forever.” He shrugged. “My only concern is for people who might continue to hold your loyalty, or be a problem for you.”

“What- What would you want me to do?”

“Everything,” he said casually. “You might be asked to kill for me, and I’ll need a bodyguard.  I don’t have that many people I can trust.”

“You don’t even know me!”

“I know enough.” He looked at him. “We’re in England, and if you walked out that door, and went back to MI6? They might take you back, but you’d never know…”

Alec stared at the window. “I couldn’t go back. It would be a matter of time before I was poisoned, or they ordered me shot.”

“Would they order your friend James to do it, do you think?”

He shook his head, “No. Too much risk they’d lose him, too, and he’s too valuable.  They’d have to spend time tearing me down to him first.”

“They won’t bother. You’re dead.” He handed over a photograph:  it was Alec, beaten bloody in the cell.  He shivered. _It even looked cold_. “Died under interrogation.”

_They wouldn’t look for him if he was dead_. “Thank you.”

The man handed him a wallet and a passport.  It had a photo of him, just slightly altered, and several pages of stamps showing travel all over the world, and a new name.

“So I’m Sebastian Moran?” he said, trying the name on. _It didn’t seem a bad fit_. “You seem certain I’ll come to work for you.”

“I knew you would when I saw you the first time, Sebastian. This is your flat; it’s paid for. Your license and credit cards are in the wallet.  Your background and all of that is in a file waiting for you.” He nodded slowly, “I keep a room here, as well.”

“So who is it I work for?” Alec– _Sebastian, now_ –stood up, looking solemnly at the man.

“I thought, at first, when you called out for James that someone had been careless,” he said, standing up and holding out a hand. “I’m James Moriarty– call me Jim.”

Sebastian Moran shook his hand, and smiled faintly.

Somehow his life was always bound up with Jameses.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trust issues, and knives

Jim apparently thought it would take weeks before Alec would be up and around. He was pacing the flat by the next day, altogether too much like a caged tiger. _It was a trick; it had to be a trick._

“I’m surprised you’re up already,” Jim said in his calm and quiet voice when he came by after work.

“We never liked being laid up. I’ll be fine.”

“We?”

_Shit. Exactly what I was worried about: I’m giving up information just talking to him. Let the torturers do their work, then hold out an offer of friendship and get the information that way._

“Anyone in my line of work,” he said cautiously, then added a bit grudgingly, “James and I were the worst. We had medical well trained to stay off of us.”

“So why are you looking like a trapped tiger, Tiger?”

“No reason, I just hate being laid up.” Alec– _Sebastian now, even in my head I have to be Sebastian from now on; a cover only works if you believe it_ – said, turning to find a place to sit.

There was a sudden noise that raised the hair on the back of Sebastian’s neck. He spun, desperately trying to block, and found his new boss under his guard, too close, with a knife already slipped between his ribs. _It was very sharp and very thin,_ he realized: he never felt the cut. He felt blood trickle from the blade and knew if he moved he was dead.

“One more fraction of an inch, Moran, and you waste my efforts by bleeding to death on an expensive rug.”

 _Fuck_. “Why? Why stab me now?” He looked down carefully, not moving. Jim was looking up at him, and he wasn’t soft, he was furious _. I thought he wasn’t dangerous? I thought he was soft, with his suits and his manicured hands, I should have remembered James and his suits…_ Some distant part of his mind noted that Jim was quiet and fast, and had obviously stabbed people before.

“Never lie to me, Tiger. I could really use you, but if you want to be a tiger skin rug so badly, it can be arranged.”

“I...” He forced his breathing to slow. “I don’t remember lying to you– adrenaline, you know–what did I say?”

“That there was no reason for your behavior beyond hating to be laid up, Moran. You’ve been watching me differently since I came in, and you have a reason… Now tell me what it is that’s worth LYING TO ME!” he suddenly screamed, his face twisting in rage, and Sebastian held very, very still, waiting for the knife to move, but it didn’t. “And I might let you live.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to question me,” he said, wondering if it was easier to just move. _It would be over quickly._

Jim looked unutterably puzzled, “What?”

“I won’t give you any information.”

Jim snorted, “You’re an idiot,” and the knife slipped out from under his ribs, smooth as silk. “Keep pressure on it, I’ll call the doctor.”

He kept pressure on it.

Jim sprawled on the sofa, looking harmless again. When the doctor arrived Jim directed him to “Patch him up” with a bored tone.

The doctor was quiet, professional, and appeared to be very well versed in not asking, or even looking curious, about why a man covered in obvious marks of torture was needing a knife wound stitched up in a luxury flat. He never once looked at Sebastian’s face, or asked him anything that he didn’t need to get the answers to. Afterwards, he gave the care directions to Jim, not Sebastian, and left.

Sebastian waited until he had been gone for a bit and then cleared his throat, “So what now?”

“I don’t think we can have a discussion about this right now,” Jim said calmly. “Also, the amount of pain medication he just gave you won’t help. Follow the care instructions, take your pills, and don’t cause trouble. I’ll be back in a few days.”

A cleaning team showed up while he was woozy on the pain medication, eradicated all evidence of blood, and left. Someone delivered a large take out container of soup, and several days’ worth of microwave meals. There was a box of emergency meal bars already in the flat– the lemon kind, so someone knew their stuff. The doctor came back the next day and checked his wounds, but wouldn’t talk to him. The day after that, Sebastian didn’t try.

Over the course of several days, he had time to think.

 _Jim looked completely soft, young, and harmless: this was a lie._ He moved fast–although, Sebastian had to admit, he himself wasn’t anywhere near top shape–and clearly had expertise with a knife. He’d gone right for a major artery: another fraction of an inch and he would, indeed, have been dead on the carpet. Jim knew that: he’d deliberately stopped when all it would take was a slight flick. He’d gone from calm to screamingly furious and his hand hadn’t twitched

Sebastian Moran didn’t work for a soft little bureaucrat: he worked for a seasoned killer with a completely believable affect. _No wonder the Serbian cell had been terrified of him; you literally couldn’t see what he was going to do until he DID._ As an agent, Alec Trevelyan was impressed; as an asset, Sebastian Moran was terrified and impressed.

Jim Moriarty walked back in one morning, followed by a delivery person with armloads of groceries. Neither of them said anything until the groceries were put away and the young man left.

“Now, it seems that there has been a misunderstanding, and we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” Jim said pleasantly, “so sit down,” he pointed at the sofa next to him, “and let’s get this settled.”

“A misunderstanding…?” Sebastian came over slowly and sat down.

“I should have realized you weren’t thinking clearly, but you should have realized I was going to react badly to a perceived threat.”

“What threat?!”

“You were looking at me with suspicion; you were trying to hide what you were doing; you were anxious; and, when I asked you what was going on, you lied and turned away.” Jim looked at him flatly. “I had no idea if you were planning to kill me, or if you had called MI6 to try to trade me in for your forgiveness, but when you lied to me I reacted.”

Sebastian gasped and stared at him. _Fuck. Fuckity fuck… Yeah, it could have looked like…_ “It never crossed my mind, Sir.”

“I admit, I doubted you, but in fairness I don’t know you that well and your behavior was worrisome. Meanwhile, you had some notion that I wanted information out of you about your previous employers.”

“Don’t you?”

“If I wanted it, I would have it already.” He stared at Sebastian and the pleasant façade bled out of his eyes. “If it is relevant to YOU and your loyalty to ME, then you will tell me. If it isn’t? Then I don’t care.”

He shook his head. “I’d already given you more than they got out of me the whole time, it was frightening– I assumed that was your plan.”

“As I said: a misunderstanding. Can you still work for me? Can I trust you?”

“Yes and yes,” Sebastian nodded. “Just… don’t stab me again?” He felt his lip curl up in a smile despite himself, “Good job, by the way. I’m considerably off my game still, but I never saw it in you–still don’t– you look…” he tilted his head, “well, not harmless, but… I wouldn’t have pegged you for being that fast, or that good with a knife.”

Jim smiled, “I rarely have to use it anymore, but time was those skills saved my life. So how are your stripes healing, Tiger?”

“Good. I like your doctor: he does his work and leaves. If my old medical had been that quick, I might have put up with it better; instead, I got lectured about safety and ‘don’t strain that’ and ‘keep this dry’.” He sighed, “And God help me if it was the two of us.”

“Do I need to know?”

Sebastian looked thoughtful. “No?”

“Then shut up.” Jim shrugged. “You can tell me that something is off limits, or that it’s personal, but you… NEVER… lie to me.”

“Understood.”

“If we are in front of other people, come up with something like ‘It’s above their pay grade, Sir,’ or something, obviously.”

Sebastian nodded slowly.

“I told you I have a room here, Moran.” He waved at the second bedroom, the one with the attached small office and separate bathroom. “That means I need to be able to trust you when I’m vulnerable.”

“That’s… a lot of trust, Sir.”

“Yes, yes it is. I don’t trust you that far right now.”

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t see how it would look…”

“Yes, well, as I said,” Jim nodded slowly. “I’m having some exercise equipment delivered so you can keep in shape. You’ll have a laptop delivered and set up to the internet–obviously, you take precautions?” he quirked an eyebrow at him.

Sebastian nodded. “I’m no computer genius, but I’m not bad. I did tend to get some of the info gathering missions.”

“Good. Once you’re back in shape a bit, I’ll give you a few simple assignments– see how you work.”

Sebastian nodded, hearing the undertone of “see if I can trust you.”

_If Jim Moriarty had wanted him dead, he’d had innumerable opportunities. If he wanted information on MI6…? Well, it was true the information was already out of date, and getting less valuable by the minute, so it was possible he really didn’t want to know…_

“Sir?”

“Yes, Sebastian?”

“I highly doubt I could act against most of my old team.” He rubbed his jaw, “In case you needed to know that.”

“I expect if you ever see a mission brief that mentions them you will remind me. Are you likely to run into any of them by happenstance?”

“In England?” He shrugged. “It’s always possible. Most of my fellow agents are assigned overseas, but the bureaucracy stays in London.”

“Oh, that’s already arranged. I take it you didn’t look carefully at your Identity photos?”

“The photos were altered,” he nodded, “just slightly–nose and jawline, mostly.”

“Plastic surgery once you recover more. I went over it with my specialists while you were unconscious. You’ll look like someone who looks an awful lot like Alec Trevelyan, but –“

Sebastian nodded, “But they won’t be looking for me because I’m dead, and they wouldn’t expect me in England anyway.”

Jim nodded. He reached up and tugged on Sebastian’s hair. “Add in a different hair style, and different clothes, as well as avoiding the people who knew you best, and you should be fine. I don’t always work in England, either– obviously.”

Sebastian nodded slowly. “Would you… Would you care for dinner? You brought groceries, and I’m a decent cook.”

Jim blinked at him. “You can COOK?!” he said sounding stunned.

“Uh… yes?”

Jim licked his lips thoughtfully. “Are you gay?”

“No.”

“Damn,” Jim frowned.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“I prefer men.” He shrugged and then looked suspicious, “That’s not a problem is it?”

“No.” Sebastian shrugged. “In my line of work, sex is a tool. I’m straight, but I’ve had sex with men for work, or as a cover.”

Jim relaxed slightly. “The way you talked about James I thought you two…?”

“We’ve been in bed with the same target more than once or twice, even at the same time sometimes.” Sebastian said with a smile, “but we’re more like brothers than lovers. It’s funny: he’s bi, and I’m straight, but people always assumed the reverse.”

Jim nodded slowly. “So, you said you can cook?”

“Anything I should know about? Allergies, dislikes?”

“I don’t like slimy food, and I have a few allergies but not to anything in this apartment.” Jim shrugged. “Other than that, I’ll try anything once; I hate being bored.”

Sebastian grinned at him and walked off to the kitchen. Jim followed and watched him cook. Eventually they were sitting down to dinner and Jim put a forkful into his mouth…

“Sebastian?” he said slowly after chewing a bite carefully.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Start a list. Whatever this is? I like this.”

Sebastian brightened up. It wasn’t typical English food, and he hadn’t been sure how adventurous his employer’s palate really was. “Once I can get some proper spices and ingredients, I can make some of my better dishes, as well.”

Jim ate slowly but steadily and finished up by licking his fork– an absurdly seductive gesture, one that Sebastian didn’t think he, or James, could pull off. “Make a list of what you need for the kitchen; I’ll have it delivered.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Well, if you don’t work out as an assassin or bodyguard? You could always be my cook.”

“Flattering, but I’d get bored if that was all I did.”

“Oh, we couldn’t have that, Tiger.” Jim grinned at him alarmingly, “Boredom is awful.”

“Somehow… Somehow I doubt I could ever be bored working for you.”

“You got that right, Tiger,” Jim smirked. “See you in a few days.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim wants to trust him, but...  
> and truthfully Alec/Sebastian DIDN'T trust him. and yes, almost being knifed to death by someone isnt a deal breaker to a double o


	3. Scenes of Domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what it says on the tin, plus a mission

By the time Jim came back, several days later, the exercise equipment had been installed, and Sebastian had a full range of ingredients to cook with. Jim also had sent a masseuse to work on him every day: she was pretty, professional, and made it very clear that she was not available for anything but massage. _Pity, but she was a damned good masseuse, so I won’t complain._

Jim came in when he was working with his upper body sequence on the weight machine. He looked over to see if his boss wanted him to stop.

“Oooh, no, Honey, don’t stop…” Jim said staring at him. “You just keep right on doing that.”

He supposed he couldn’t look too bad if Jim was looking at him that way. _It was a bit odd to be drooled over, though._

Jim pulled one of the chairs over slightly and sat down with a glass of something. Sebastian continued, moving from back to upper arm work.

“Would it be possible to get a punching bag in?”

“Live or sand?”

Sebastian stopped abruptly and the weights clanged down. “What?” He turned to stare at Jim, who collapsed into giggles.

“Oh! Your FACE!” Jim giggled, just managing to put his drink down.

“Right. I’ll go… shower.”

“I’ll sit here imagining it!” Jim said happily, waving at him.

 _This is the damnedest job I have ever had,_ Sebastian thought as he took a shower _. James would be in his element, though. He’d probably seduce the guy and have him all wrapped up in a heartbeat._

He came out and started making dinner. “Nothing slimy, you said. How are you with hot spices?”

“Don’t go nuclear level on me, but I do eat Pakistani and Indian food.” Jim called back, “There’s some good take out places near a few of my offices.”

Sebastian finished cooking, set the table, and called out, “Jim? Dinner?”

He got a distracted sounding noise in response, and went out to find him frowning down at a laptop.

“Can it wait? Or should I put your food aside?” _When did I get this domestic with him?_

“Idiots! How can I run a business with these IDIOTS!”

“Eat first?” _Fuck that, when did I get DOMESTIC?_

Jim closed the laptop and came to eat… and promptly started ranting at the table. Sebastian watched his food cooling and decided to take drastic measures: he picked up a spoonful of Dahl and put it to Jim's mouth mid-rant; Jim swallowed and kept ranting. About five bites of the assorted food later, Jim finally blinked.

“Have you been FEEDING me?”

“It seemed like the easiest way to get you to eat, yes,” Sebastian said, putting another forkful of vegetable to his lips. _On the other hand, he really does need to eat more._

Jim ate it and then sat there and blinked at him. After a while he started feeding himself. “You’re full of surprises, Sebastian.”

“Does this go on the list?”

He took bites of everything and considered. “I like it all, but it’s not at the same level of like as that other dish.”

Sebastian nodded. “I was planning on steak tomorrow, if you want to come back for that.”

“Might not work… I have a small mission for you–IF you feel up to it?”

“Depends on the mission.” _No, it doesn’t. I’m a Double-O not a housewife._ He cursed at himself as he put the dishes in to soak

Jim went over it with him: find the target in London – he hadn’t shown any signs of leaving yet– and kill him. “Make an example of him,” Jim said. “Plus, of course, don’t get caught.”

“Equipment?”

Jim gave him a list to choose from, some nondescript clothes, cash, and the other odds and ends of a disposable identity.

“Easy. When do you want this done?”

Sebastian was looking forward to a chance to impress the man, but he supposed he would have to take the easy job first.

“I’ll see you off in the morning; I want to see how long it takes.”

“So you’ll be back for dinner then?”

“Do you honestly think you can pull this off by dinner?”

 _More like by tea time._ “Easy, like I said.”

He put the steak in to marinate.

~

Jim stopped by early on the way to his office, and saw Sebastian off. It was his first trip out of the flat since Jim had acquired him, and there was no telling how disoriented he would be, but he seemed confident enough.

“Dinner at six,” Sebastian said pleasantly. “I’ll leave it to you to choose the wine.”

Jim smiled all the way to the office. _He was trying to make it look easy and sound confident, but finding a man in London that doesn’t want to be found wasn’t all that simple._

In between grading papers and doing his research work he thought about the man. _To be honest, he was becoming an obsession. It wasn’t JUST that he was attractive–although he was–it was the sheer aura of deadliness._

_The whip scars and knife marks only added to it. Watching him sprawled on a bed, or muscles working under the scarred skin, or even pacing around the flat–he was a tiger in human form._

_His discipline was incredible. Jim had put a knife in him–alright, he’d overreacted a touch– and he’d just stood there, controlled, still, and had a conversation. Jim had fallen for him just a bit more right then… if only he could trust him._

_He was a spy: he lied for a living_

_But he understood loyalty, and his prior employers had thrown him away._

He left the office and headed back to the flat. _I should find out what to do with that steak– how long it can sit marinating–the job will take at least a few days just to find him._

Sebastian was sprawled on the sofa with a book, wearing nothing but pajama bottoms. It was barely five o’clock.

“Decided to take a break for dinner?” Jim asked cautiously. _What was he doing back?_

“You’re early!” Sebastian put the book down and got up, stretching in a way that made Jim’s thoughts stutter a bit. “No, job’s done. I’ve been back since three.”

Anger roared through Jim’s mind. “That’s not possible!” he snapped.

Sebastian just looked puzzled. “It should be on the News. You did say make an example…”

 _He- he seemed to be telling the truth?_ Jim opened up the laptop and started searching; it didn’t take long. They weren’t releasing his identity yet, but the story of a man found murdered–with his tongue tacked to the wall over his head–was going to dominate the news for days.

Jim stared at the man in wonder. “That… that’s incredible! I thought it would take you days!”

Sebastian just smirked, “And be late for dinner? I think I should be insulted.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a phone. “I bought a burner phone with a camera. I took pictures: I assumed you’d want them. I also bought salad makings... I’ll get started on dinner.” Sebastian walked into the kitchen.

Jim flipped through the photos on the phone. The man himself, a photo of his wallet and identification, images of the man dead, and the mutilation… The police hadn’t released all the details, of course; Sebastian had done much more than just his tongue. _By tonight, everyone who knew he’d tried to betray me would know what had happened._

Jim almost purred.

“Did you bring wine?”

“Forgive me, Tiger, I’ll go get it. Is the steak spicy?”

“No, I usually like my steak with just a hint of seasoning. I have a salad with raspberry vinaigrette for greens and a chocolate dessert, though.”

“I’ll be right back.”

He went and got an array of wines to suit and was back in time for Sebastian to put the appetizer down. He paired the wines with the courses and settled in.

Sebastian didn’t say much, just seemed to enjoy eating, and watching Jim eat, and kept shaking his head at the wines.

“Is there a problem with the wine choice?” Jim finally asked, as he was eating a decadently gooey chocolate something with berries.

“No.” Sebastian smiled. “I just think it’s funny. James–my James–was all insanely expensive suits and perfect ties, and lectures on proper wines… I just think it’s funny that I ended up with another James and you’re… well you’re nothing like him otherwise, but the suits, and the wine… it's funny.”

“Well,” Jim smiled, amused, at him, “people do say names have meanings and all.”

“Moriarty is a funny name.”

“I picked it. It’s fake Latin: ‘to die is an art’– more or less.”

“Did you pick mine? Sebastian Moran?”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

“A subtle way of calling me a moron?”

Jim almost choked, “Oh, Honey! No! Your last name is from the MP, Lord Augustus Moran. He annoyed me badly–personal reasons– so I thought it was funny to call you that.”

“Oh.” Sebastian blinked. “And Sebastian?”

“There’s a story there, but… maybe another time?”

“So James isn’t your name?”

“Actually, it is,” Jim smiled at him. “Add this entire meal to the list, by the way.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“I don’t want you to think you have to, because you don’t, but if you ever decide you want to give men another try…. let me know?”

“Not tonight. It’s the first time I’ve killed anyone since…” He shook his head. “I need the space.”

“Shall I come by tomorrow? To talk about work?”

Sebastian nodded. “Yeah, too much down time with nothing to do is bad.”

Jim winced, “I know that one. Well, now that I know what you can do, I can make sure you aren’t bored.”

Jim went back to his flat, which seemed very empty tonight, and couldn’t help but wonder what his Tiger would think, if he ever told him about why he was named Sebastian…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a psych note: something BROKE in Alec when he found out he'd been burned. (not the torture, although yes that left mental problems too) it is driving a lot of his behavior with Jim


	4. Episode One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW mental illness, breakdown, dissociation.

The nose job was first. It wasn’t a big deal, minor work really, including straightening out some of the damage from having it broken so often. Sebastian suggested doing more work, but Jim said no.

“Given your line of work, Sebastian, and the likelihood of more damage later, the less we work on your nose the better. Weakening the cartilage is a bad idea.”

He had to admit that was likely true. In any case, just changing his hair style did wonders to change his appearance.

He had occasional jobs–some wet work, but mostly secure courier– while he was healing, and Jim came by almost every other day for dinner. The list of preferred foods got longer, and Sebastian started being able to predict what he would like a bit better, although he didn’t seem to DISlike any of it, really.

The idle comment Jim had made while inhaling a rather spicy Thai dish of “When I have a really bad day, I tend to go for bland food, but this is nice…” went into Sebastian’s memory file in the event of Jim getting the flu or something. He should have known it wasn’t that simple.

-

He’d come back from a secure courier run to France, and it had taken longer than usual–someone was trying to follow him, and it had taken work to lose them–so he wasn’t expecting Jim to be at his flat when he got in.

He definitely wasn’t expecting Jim to be dissecting the sofa and carefully laying out puffs of stuffing in a complex pattern, along with broken glass, pens, paperclips, and something that looked suspiciously like the remains of the television. His hands were cut and bleeding, and there were bloody hand prints here and there on the rug. Sebastian’s first thought was that it looked like a scene from Pink Floyd’s The Wall.

“Jim?” he said hesitantly.

Jim looked up. Sebastian froze. _Jim’s eyes looked like they had when he’d stabbed me… no, worse. There was a generally glittering nervousness that hadn’t been there that time. He had circles under his eyes and he looked almost feverish._

“I can’t make it work!” he hissed. He was waving a broken bit of glass, and Sebastian saw his hand was bleeding slightly. “I ran out of paper, but I can’t make it WORK!”

Sebastian suddenly flashed back to his life before Jim, to Alec Trevelyan and James Bond having to take down Double-O Two when he’d had a breakdown after a mission–an “Episode,” the psych staff had called it. They couldn’t get a clean shot with the tranquilizers, and Alec and James had taken him down–eventually. Poor fellow had spent a few days in a straitjacket in medical and a week in recovery, then they’d sent him back out after a month or two… but it had been a tense time until he’d been taken down.

“Okay, Jim, I can help… just put down the glass?”

Faster than should be possible, the glass was thrown at him like a shuriken; Sebastian ducked. Then Jim was standing with a knife screaming, “Who are you?! Stay away!” _and damned if that didn’t sound like Double-O Two– he hadn’t recognized them, either._ Jim’s head was weaving like a lizard; it was eerie.

“It’s me, Jim… Sebastian?” he said edging closer, watching his eyes and his hands.

“Seb- Sebastian?” His voice lost a bit of the menace… just a bit.

“Sebastian,” he nodded. “It’s Sebastian. Can you put down the knife?”

“Tiger?”

“Tiger, Boss. Remember the stripes?”

Jim’s hand tightened on the knife. “Show me! I don’t see stripes… how do I know you’re Sebastian? You don’t look like Sebastian!”

Slowly Sebastian took off his shirt. Jim started breathing a bit more slowly and started walking forward. Sebastian turned so he could see his back. “It’s Sebastian… see? Stripes?”

“Tiger?” Jim’s voice sounded so confused. He came up and petted at him, leaving bloody streaks. “You need stitches?” he looked around in confusion. “Stuffing?” he said staring at the sofa.

Sebastian carefully took the knife from him and got hold of his wrists “Sebastian. It’s Sebastian. You need to lie down…”

“Sebastian…” he repeated slowly.

It went to hell when he tried to move him. Jim started screaming about how he had to finish it, make it work, and apparently removing him from the room was interfering. Luckily this time Sebastian WAS up to full, and he already had a grip on Jim’s wrists, because Jim turned into a wildcat.

All Sebastian could do was hold him down while he ripped the sheets off the bed and tied him to it, finally dropping exhausted into bed next to a screaming and howling Jim.

Eventually Jim started crying out for him, and Sebastian moved himself over, pressing his weight into the little man– he didn’t dare untie him.

“I’m here, it’s Sebastian. You’re safe.” He kept mumbling that until Jim fell asleep.

In the morning Jim was quiet.

“Boss? Can I untie you?”

Jim didn’t respond. Sebastian tentatively untied one hand–he didn’t move. He didn’t move once he was completely untied, either. Sebastian managed to strip him for a shower, and froze.

Jim was covered in scars. Some looked self-inflicted, like the parallel scars on his arms, and some definitely were not, like the whip like marks on his back and shoulder. Jim didn’t react or respond, moving like an automaton. Sebastian managed to get him through a shower, bandage him, and get a set of clothes on him from Jim’s room, all without him making a sound.

Sebastian kept up a running one-sided dialog. “I’m Sebastian; I’m going to be making breakfast. You like oatmeal?” It seemed to help.

 _Right, bland food._ Sebastian stirred some of the protein powder he used into the cream and mixed it into the oatmeal. Jim ate it if you put it in his mouth.

Sebastian moved him around, and made sure he could keep an eye on him as he cleaned up the shattered debris, and tried to go through his day. He found himself talking a lot.

“… My parents were defectors, you know. Officially they were just Russian emigres, but my Mom had actually worked in a secure agency and came over with information. They got assassinated when I was just a kid: officially, a car accident–but it wasn’t; the government never investigated. I probably wasn’t supposed to know, but my parents told me a lot more than most kids….” He was talking as he tried to get all the glass up. He’d need to get the number for the cleaning people from Jim when he came to.

“… James and I almost grew up together. Two orphans and associated with security. We went into the Navy together…” He told anecdote after anecdote of their Navy days as he spent the morning on the treadmill. It was odd not having Jim ogling him or complimenting him.

 “… most of the Double-O program are orphans, it just makes sense.” Jim sat on the chair, where he’d put him, not looking at anything.

“James can run rings around me on a wine list. He tried to educate me but… I do alright. He can’t cook, though, lives on take out and restaurant food–that, and smoothies. I did manage to teach him to work a blender,” he said, as he was spooning a nutrition shake into Jim for lunch.

After lunch, Jim actually went to the bathroom on his own, although after he finished he just stood and stared at the mirror. Sebastian got him out of there before he tried anything.

Sebastian would normally have watched a movie, but the television was broken and the sofa was… uh… messily dead, so he took Jim into his bedroom and watched a movie on his laptop. “Look at that idiot! He’s got no trigger discipline.”

Jim eventually ended up curled up against him; it seemed to reassure him to hear talking.

“Time to make dinner,” he said, steering Jim out and putting him in a chair where he could watch him and cook. He made a chicken soup.

“I wonder if the fact that they always doubted my loyalty is why I was so easily burned? The people who had me knew my parents were ‘traitors’. I never did have the feeling I was as trusted as the others, but I was good enough they had to deal with me. James and I were the pair from hell, though.”

Alec fed him chicken soup. Jim seemed a bit more responsive, and every now and then a flicker of expression crossed his face.

“Where’s Sebastian?” Jim asked very quietly after he finished the soup.

“I’m right here, Jim.” He pulled off his shirt and came over. Jim traced the whip marks with a finger, looking puzzled.

“Sebastian?”

“Sebastian.”

“You’re taller.”

“Uh, no, Sir, you’re sitting down.”

Jim shook his head slowly, closed his eyes and put his head down on the table. Sebastian got him undressed, put him into the pajamas he found in Jim’s room (next to the submachine gun, and on top of the knife sharpening kit) and put him back to bed in Sebastian’s room. After a moment’s thought, he used the torn-up sheets to tie his wrists together, just to slow him down if he woke up intending harm.

Sebastian woke up–as most Double-Os do– quickly in response to movement. He was curled around Jim in his bed, and Jim had moved abruptly.

“Jim? Are you…?”

“I’m quite awake, Sebastian,” Jim answered, sounding a bit cranky– _defensive,_ Sebastian thought–“and I need to get up.”

Sebastian rolled away from him. “Need me to untie…“–Jim had already slipped out of the sheet tie–“I guess not.”

Jim left the room with his back stiff and straight.

Sebastian sighed, “I’ll get breakfast going.”

“What the HELL happened to the living room?!” came a startled shriek.

Sebastian walked out and headed to the kitchen. “You did. I cleaned up as best as I could but I think you need to call that cleaning team, I don’t have their number.”

Jim came back out in what for him were casual clothes, in time for breakfast.

“Thankyouwehavetotalk,” he mumbled into his coffee.

“Yeah, we do,” Sebastian sighed. “At least it wasn’t me on a post-bad mission bender; I’m harder to pin down.”

Jim looked up cautiously. “You do… this?”

“No, but…. an old work mate–another spy– came close; James and I had to take him down once. James just either starts picking up pretty things and trying to lose himself in sex, or goes right for the scotch. I drink too much, start throwing things, and set fire to my apartment once… I’m pretty sure it was accidental, I think I was trying to drunk cook something flammable.”

He shrugged, “If James and I were in town together, and one of us went off, we tended to just beat the snot out of each other and then sit in the wreckage drinking and getting maudlin until we either passed out or went out and did something that required serious effort to keep us out of jail.”

 He paused.

“Unless we were someplace we didn’t like, in which case at least once we got drunk, beat up most of the local police, let all the prisoners out, and left the local cops handcuffed in the jail…” He grinned, “Fun times.”

Jim smiled a bit, “After the cleaning crew gets this mess dealt with and all that, I’d love to hear it. I can tell you about the time I spray painted the entire outside of the police station with math proofs, and got back inside and locked up before the daylight shift.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: much like Sherlock saying he's a sociopath, the factt that someone tries to pin a diagnoses on themselves or anyone else does not make it so


	5. Care and Feeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reminder that neither of these two are psychologists.  
> college rivalries, bets, and blow jobs

Jim didn’t know how to tell Sebastian that he remembered the second day– kind of.  He usually remembered bits and pieces, but the rather hallucinatory version of his memories often made it harder to piece together what had actually happened.

Sebastian talking to him had helped, so he remembered more. Apparently, Sebastian had simply talked most of the day. He also had eaten better than usual, since Sebastian had fed him.  Oatmeal, some kind of milkshake thing, and plain chicken with potatoes and butter– Jim recalled mentioning “bland food if I wasn’t well,” and Sebastian had remembered. It made him feel absurdly grateful.

_His parents had been defectors? And murdered?  They probably had thought he was too young to know, but then– as he got older, and into more security-conscious work– someone had gotten suspicious… and doubt breeds doubt._

He put his most murderous face on while the clean-up crew finished stripping the room.  The new sofa would be here tomorrow, the new television as well. He didn’t want to have this discussion.

“I need to sit down, and I need a drink, and we don’t have a sofa anymore so find a chair,” Jim got out through gritted teeth.

“All I really need to know is what triggered this, is it likely to happen again, and what should I do differently,” Sebastian said cautiously.

“Sometimes it just happens. This time I was working on a problem and I got… frustrated, and there was nothing to take my mind off it.  If I’d had a problem to solve, or someone around, or something to do, it might not have gotten that far…”

“So if I see you getting obsessive, I should try to distract you?”

“Generally a good idea,” he admitted.

“Okay, so that’s the first two questions,” Sebastian nodded. “Anything I should do differently?”

“I… I’ll…” Jim rubbed his face and took several deep breaths. “I’ll get you better restraints, I guess.  Talking to me helped.  I wasn’t… I remember bits of it, but it’s all usually kind of mixed up with memories.” _So far he was taking it well._

Sebastian flinched, probably thinking about how much he’d talked about. “You kept not recognizing me, I know, but you…” His eyes widened. “You thought I was whoever you named me after?”

It was Jim’s turn to flinch. “Can we not bring that up right now?”

Sebastian nodded. “Does anyone else know? That this happens?”

“There are a few people who knew me as a younger person, but they don’t know where I am now,” Jim admitted. “Everyone else… “ He took a deep breath and looked up at Sebastian. “I killed everyone else.”

Sebastian didn’t look upset, luckily, just nodded. “For knowing too much?”

“Well, the last one, yes.  The one before that tried to blackmail me, and the one before that raped me because he thought I wouldn’t remember.”

Sebastian looked furious. “I HOPE you remember that while I did tie you to the bed, I didn’t–“

“I know, Tiger.” Jim patted him on the arm with his bandaged hands. “You had no choice but to tie me down, and the bed is as good a place as any.  I think…? I remember a shower? Unless that was a hallucination.”

“Yes, Sir, I took you through a shower.”

“But you didn’t take advantage.” Jim stated it as a fact. “Oddly, I wouldn’t have turned that guy down if he’d asked, you know? He was competent and kind of attractive, but instead he just wanted to rape me. Seemed to think it was alright somehow because I was out of it enough to not fight? At least that’s what he said before he stopped being able to talk.”

Sebastian sat back and looked off into nothing much. “My job– my old job– sometimes meant taking advantage of sex, seduction, or rape.  It was more James’ specialty than mine, but… It’s not something we do for ourselves, only as an assignment.” He looked down, “I would prefer you didn’t ask me to rape anyone for the job, it takes a long time to feel normal afterwards.”

“And they call themselves the good guys…” Jim mused. “No, I won’t ask you to.”

“Will you tell me who the first Sebastian was?” Sebastian asked him cautiously. “Did you kill him?

Jim startled. _Oh. I guess that’s a fair question, and he doesn’t know…_ “It’s a touchy question, but… no I didn’t kill him.” Jim tried to think of how to answer him without actually telling him. “Someone else did, though, and then I killed them.” He chewed on his lip a bit. “Yes, I kept flickering in and out of thinking you were him, which makes no sense at all, really.”

“Just trying to figure out what to do. Telling you I was Sebastian seemed to calm you down a bit.”

“I can’t guarantee it would always work, but you can try.” Jim looked thoughtful, “As I get more comfortable with you, it will help.”

Sebastian nodded. “So, totally different question…”

“Yes?”

“You spray-painted math all over a police station?”

Jim started giggling “I was fourteen, I’d been arrested as a runaway from my foster home, and they were SOOOOO stupid. So I broke out, covered the entire building in math proofs using the spray paint from the evidence locker, and broke back in.  They never figured it out, even after I went to Trinity on a math scholarship!”

“Wait…” Sebastian grinned. “You went to Dublin Trinity?”

“Yes?”

“Oh, well… it’s all over then,” Sebastian said, not at all seriously. “James and I went to Eton and Oxford.  We’re archenemies.”

“Oooooh! I always WANTED an archenemy!” Jim cackled.

“So did I, I used to play at it with James, but…” Sebastian snickered. “So, now that you’re more yourself, I suppose one of us needs to get a monocle, or a riding crop, or something.  James had an archenemy with a white cat…”

“No pets: I adore them, but they need people to be home reliably.” Jim looked thoughtful and smiled at him. “I could always tie you up and question you.”

“Errr…” Sebastian lost his playful look. “That might be a bad idea– too much like life.”

“Oh,” Jim winced. “Sorry, I was thinking blow jobs until you talked.”

They sat there quietly for a while.  Eventually, Sebastian coughed slightly. “Maybe if you didn’t tie me up in any way I couldn’t get loose from, it would help?  James and I ducked out of psych all the time, but I know they suggested restaging traumatic events in a way that you could control…”

 _Not so straight that you can’t enjoy a blowjob at least, but he did say he’d done that for work… “_ I know you’re clean, assuming you didn’t sneak in any unsafe sex recently.” Jim nodded. “I know I am–I assume you can trust me on that?”

Sebastian nodded.

Jim smirked, “So, you have to hold out for three hours to keep me from winning. That simulates a situation where there’s a time limit on getting the information.”

“Hold out on what?”

“Well, since I don’t actually want to question you, how about I win if I can force you to admit Trinity is better than Oxford.”

“It’ll never happen,” Sebastian laughed. ”What do I win?”

“Well, three hours of mind-blowing sex…” Jim grinned, “But alright, if you can hold out for three hours, I’ll let you do some major black market shopping– HOWEVER, if you lose?”

“Won’t happen.”

“If you lose–and getting out of the restraints counts– you tell me EVERY last detail of the time you and James got drunk, beat up the police, let all the prisoners out, and left the local cops handcuffed in the jail… AND you memorize and sing the Trinity team fight song.”


	6. Strawberries and Creme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> explicit college rivalries. could be worse, coulda been Cambridge.

“Do you know, I’ve never had to tie someone up BADLY before?” Jim said after the third try ended in disaster.

Alec laughed, “Well, it’s not a usual skill, no.” He looked down at a tangle of ropes. “Want me to teach you?”

“While it does sort of ruin the ‘I am the evil villain and you’re my helpless prisoner’ vibe to have you show me how to tie you up, yes, I think you’d better or we’ll end up wasting more rope.”

Two hours of demonstration later, Jim had gained a new appreciation of Sebastian’s skills. He’d learned ways to restrain someone with handcuffs and ropes that were secure, that looked secure but weren’t, and that were secure unless you were, say, a Double-O.

Sebastian was impressed at how fast Jim learned. “Seriously, Sir, it took me a week, and James days, and he’s fast.”

“Please, if I’m going to be a sexual archnemesis, call me Jim.” Jim smirked, “And your James may be smart, but honey, I’m a genius.”

Sebastian appreciated that Jim asked him about what positions wouldn’t put any strain on him before he tied him up, and, before they set the timer, Jim verified that he could get loose.

“Just in case, I’m giving you a safeword,” Jim said frowning. _This might–not WOULD, but MIGHT–bring up a side of himself that could be dangerous, but shouldn’t be: he really liked Sebastian._

“Getting out of the restraints should be a safeword, right?”

“Use the safeword, or get out of the restraints and you forfeit, but… just in case?” Jim was very deliberately not looking concerned. It reminded Sebastian of James “not looking concerned” at him.

“Alright, did you have a safeword in mind?”

“I’m trying to think of one that you’ll remember but wouldn’t come up at random.” Jim admitted. “I have a lot I would suggest, but I’m not sure you would remember them.”

Sebastian sighed, “James and I had a code phrase. It was just a private joke between us, really. I’ll never be on a mission with him again, so we can use that.”

“I told you, I don’t want to actually interrogate you.”

“It was just us.” Sebastian shrugged. “Not anything official: ‘Three Roses’. It was a ‘something isn’t right’ phrase.”

Jim nodded, and set the timer on his phone, showing Sebastian and putting it out of sight. Then Jim… changed.

~

Sebastian’s blood chilled suddenly as Jim stopped being “Jim, my actually very trustworthy, if slightly crazy, boss who doesn’t eat enough”–his eyes went darker, his face wicked, and his posture far more confident. This wasn’t even the man who’d bought him in Serbia a lifetime ago, this… this…

Sebastian checked the ropes quickly. _Yeah, I could still get out of these_. In that moment of distraction, Jim was on him–literally.

Jim was a small man, but laying on top of him, smirking down at him, he seemed larger.

“You made a very big mistake, Oxford boy,” Jim purred down at him–then he kissed him. _Holy HELL it was like being eaten alive._ Fear and lust went straight to Sebastian’s cock and he moaned. Jim rolled his hips against Sebastian’s erection, and got up off the bed.

“I’d say wait here, but you don’t have a choice,” Jim smirked as he walked off. He came back a few minutes later with a tray of food and a bottle of wine.

Sebastian had managed to get himself calmed down by then. “Planning on trying to soften me up by plying me with food and drink?” Sebastian was aiming for a dry rejoinder–he wasn’t sure he managed.

“Certainly not,” Jim’s accent was stronger, and he was looking at Sebastian like his next meal. “I’m hungry; I see no reason to deprive myself.”

Then Jim started painting chocolate over Sebastian using a strawberry as a paintbrush. _Oh, shit this was hot._

Jim started eating strawberries and licking off chocolate. He hadn’t gone below the waist and Sebastian was hard as a rock.

“Chocolate lover?” Sebastian tried to keep his tone light, which was difficult when all his blood was rushing to his groin–and his neck, where Jim was licking off chocolate.

“Mmm… blond chocolate is nice.” Jim licked up the side of Sebastian’s neck and just into his hair behind his ear. Then he put a chocolate covered strawberry to Sebastian’s lips. “Strawberry blond.”

Sebastian took the strawberry in his mouth and had just bitten down when Jim replaced the rest of the strawberry with his mouth. Jim kissed him and he had sweet whipped cream in his mouth as he chased the chocolate and strawberry out of Sebastian’s mouth with his tongue.

_Oh god I am so fucked_

_I hope._

Sebastian moaned as Jim lay sprawled beside him, the strawberry paintbrush dipping lower. Eventually Sebastian was begging, “Jim, please, oh god your MOUTH!”

Jim put another, larger strawberry in his mouth. “Quiet, or you get nothing.”

Sebastian held the strawberry in his mouth as a makeshift gag, trying not to say anything as Jim painted HIM with chocolate and teased him with his tongue. Jim slid his mouth over the head of Sebastian’s cock and his tongue flicked off the drops of pre-cum; Sebastian almost choked to death on the strawberry.

Jim kissed him. He kissed him again and his mouth was full of sparkling wine.

Jim moved back down and intently covered Sebastian’s dick with stripes of chocolate, strawberry pulp, and whipped cream. He swallowed him down. Sebastian groaned and tried to push his hips up into it, and Jim slowly pulled away, trailing his tongue over to wipe a streak of chocolate away.

“Oh, God, You’re incredible!” _Fuck. I sounded like one of James’ missions! Get a hold of yourself!_

Jim took a mouthful of drink and moved back, and the feel of bubbles sparking in Jim’s mouth as he went down on Sebastian left him howling and begging for more.

An eternity later, and Jim was using an ice cube in his mouth, alternating heat and cold, keeping Sebastian suspended between too much and too much.

“Trinity beats Oxford every time,” Jim murmured into his ear, as he fed him a raspberry dipped in whipped cream and kissed him with another mouthful of sparkling wine.

Sebastian started to agree before he caught himself and his eyes went wide. “N-no…?”

“You don’t sound certain,” Jim murmured. “Let’s try again.” He went back down and took Sebastian down his throat until Jim’s breath was warm against his balls, then he pulled back and did it again, finally releasing him with an audible “pop” against wet lips.

Sebastian glanced down to see Jim painting him again with chocolate and cream, this time balancing a raspberry at his tip, before looking wickedly at him and flicking it off into his mouth with his tongue. He replaced the raspberry, and did it again, Jim’s tongue just brushing the intensely overstimulated head of Sebastian’s cock.

“I will… admit anything you want,” he managed to pant, “if you let me…” He trailed off into an incoherent moan as Jim dropped his mouth gently over the tip of him and licked off just a bit of the chocolate. “Trinity!” he begged, as Jim swallowed him down. “Yes! Absolutely! Much! Better!”

He’d never come so hard in his life. Sebastian had always thought blacking out on orgasm was a myth, but he found himself coming back to find that, somewhere in there, Jim had gone back to licking his neck.

Jim put his mouth over Sebastian’s, passing him a raspberry dipped in whipped cream, and then took another mouthful of the wine, and shared that too.

“I’m impressed, Tiger,” Jim purred.

Sebastian blinked at him. _Tiger… Right, he hadn’t called him by name or his usual nickname the whole time_. “Jim? I,” he shook his head, “I don’t think I remember how to get out of these restraints, actually.” He paused. “I don’t think I care, either.”

Jim rolled over and came back with the phone, timer counting down with just over forty minutes to go.

“Shit.”

“You held out longer than I expected: I ran out of strawberries,” Jim snickered.

…

Sebastian really, really hated singing that fight song, Jim could tell.

“Let’s call it torture resistance training, Tiger… you can be the interrogator next time.”

“I’d untie you and surrender.”

Jim just smirked.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tying someone up so they are restrained BUT can get out of it fast, is in fact very difficult. Jim knows how to tie people up so they CAN'T get loose.


	7. Masks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dubious consent alert, but no one ever said these were good people with healthy boundaries.
> 
> PS: my husband has surgery today. Obviously that has been taking up my time, so i apologize for falling behind on my posting.

Jim moved more of his things into the flat, and the pace of work picked up. Jim made it very clear he was interested, and, every now and then, Sebastian took him up on it–just blow jobs, but Jim was insanely good at them. 

Jim taught him more about returning the favor, and somehow it was soothing to his nerves to be kneeling at Jim’s feet, or in his bed, with nothing more to think about than making him moan in pleasure.

And keeping an eye on the door, because security.

-

Sebastian thought that something must have broken inside of him when he found out he’d been betrayed, to be this desperate for affection, for trust. He didn’t remember being this… submissive… before.    In all the work he was doing–all the killings, all the courier work– he never once felt a flicker of submission to anyone but Jim.

And when Jim told him that someone needed to be killed, it was like all the old joy at being the top predator in the jungle came rushing back.  He loved it best when it was the distance of his sniper scope–the precision, and the power of it– but sometimes Jim needed someone broken but alive, or taken apart as a lesson, like his first kill for him.

Jim Moriarty’s shadow– his Tiger– was beginning to get a reputation, too. The master sniper, Moriarty’s shadow, the second most dangerous man in England.  Jim snorted at that, “The world, Tiger; Europe, at least.” All most people knew was that Sebastian was a big man. The rumors were fun, though: once Sebastian spent an evening drinking with some underlings, one of whom swore blind that ‘The Tiger’ was a man with scars on his face, who was mauled by a tiger he killed with his bare hands.

He told Jim that one–Jim got him prosthetic latex that gave him very realistic facial scars.

Very few people had even that much information about what Jim looked like. There were people who had hints of his description– outside of his men– but the more he worked, the more he discovered that hardly anyone had anything right about Jim’s appearance. It was easy to get his height wrong because he took up the whole room when he was on, but that wasn’t it...

Eventually, he figured out how Jim worked: he was a chameleon.  It was breathtaking to watch the man change: even without clothing changes, he could be different people, right in front of you.  Add in the makeup and the change of clothes, and Sebastian had the eerie feeling that Jim could walk right by him and never be seen.

The man who had bought him in Serbia? Was “James Moriarty’s accountant in Russia”. The scruffy fellow that Sebastian shadowed as hired muscle? Was Eddie River, small-time bookie and cog in the London gang scene.  Eddie River’s name was also a bit of a joke, apparently:  Jim had a fixation with Doctor Who and other bits of science fiction. There were uncounted Jims, and Johns, and at least four Peters– and they were all him.

Jim had a network of his own and most of those men knew him on sight, but not as Moriarty– only as his courier, or his agent. On at least one occasion, during a meeting with some dangerous contacts, Jim had Sebastian aim the laser sight of the sniper scope at JIM, as if he was being threatened by Moriarty to ensure his cooperation.

“Was that wise, boss?” Sebastian asked afterwards.

“Well, not if anyone else had been the sniper,” Jim smirked, “but you were my insurance.”

“It was a huge risk.” Sebastian sighed.

“It worked, darling.  I couldn’t trust anyone else to handle the negotiations, but I couldn’t afford to let them get their hands on me.” Jim smiled at him. “This way I could handle the negotiations, and they still don’t have any idea what the infamous Moriarty looks like.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I know what you look like,” Sebastian admitted. “You change so easily.”

Jim frowned, “It’s a talent, but… there’s a cost to it.”

Sebastian thought about the times he and James had done deep cover work, and how hard it was sometimes to come back to yourself after… “Losing yourself in the part?”

Jim looked at him oddly, “Only some of the roles– and only sometimes– but… yes.”

Jim had changed the subject, and Sebastian and he had gone on with their work, but sometimes Sebastian wondered if there was more he should know.

-

Over the next six months, on at least two other occasions, Jim got… obsessed… over something and Sebastian had to distract him from it.  It was probably far more than twice, but usually something distracted him before it got bad.

The first time was simple: he’d made a favorite dish but he’d made it a bit spicier than usual; Jim had drunk more in compensation and gone to sleep, head down over the papers he was worried about. Sebastian took the papers away and hid them for three days.  It wasn’t a pretty three days, but it worked.

The second occasion…

The second occasion got bad.  Sebastian didn’t mind when Jim killed the first man– after all, he had been responsible for the project going wrong– but then Jim didn’t stop.  Apparently, someone in intelligence in London had been countering a lot of his projects and Jim began to hunt him down.

Again, not something Sebastian recognized as a problem…

Until Jim stopped sleeping for more than an hour at a time.

He made progress– _hell, he was brilliant_ – but he was getting more erratic, and it seemed like his paranoia was getting worse–talking about the cameras following them.

Sebastian decided on drastic measures and– when Jim refused a blow job, food, sleep, and everything else he could offer–he bodily picked him up and restrained him to the bed.

Jim spent twelve straight hours screaming and threatening, and Sebastian actually wrote out something approximating a last will and testament, mostly a letter to James that he hoped Jim might mail after  he calmed down–assuming he ever did.

And, just like last time, eventually he fell asleep.  The next day, Jim was blank and docile, and Sebastian spent most of the day working remotely to pick up the pieces from both the original problem and the neglect caused while Jim had been pursuing this mystery opponent. Jim had made progress, Sebastian found: there did indeed seem to be someone directing a lot of the intelligence network that had been  causing them problems, but  while it all had the fingerprints– for lack of a better word– of one person, they weren’t obvious. 

Whoever they were worked behind the scenes, like Jim.

When Jim came to himself again, Sebastian suggested they go handle some issues that had come up in Germany, before getting back to work in London.  Jim–exhausted– reluctantly agreed.

-

There was a lot of work to do in Germany. Jim got happily involved in solving it, and terrorizing a few people who crossed him.  He even invented a few new identities for the occasion.  Sebastian got to see a few being created, tried, adjusted, and polished. It was mesmerizing to watch as he decided what KIND of person was needed, and then pulled bits and pieces together to create them.

When he was slinking through the club scene as the young rebellious local, he was believable.  When he was the tourist biking across Europe, he was utterly convincing.  As the Finnish journalist drunk off his ass and picking up girls in a bar he was SO believable that Sebastian had to force himself not to break his own cover and rescue the man from that predatory bitch…

_Oh, shit, was I JEALOUS?_

He thought about blow jobs and trusting the man enough to sleep in the same room with him.  He thought about three hours and a terrifying, attractive version of Jim that had had such an impact on him that to this DAY he got turned on by strawberries.

_Yeah, I was jealous._

_-_

“Has… Has anyone else met the version of you that questioned me with chocolate?” Sebastian asked him that night in a safehouse, after trailing him through three different personas in one day–including the drunken journalist.

“Not in years,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t let people get that close.”

“He was– you were a bit terrifying at first, there.” Sebastian looked wistful.

Jim slid up behind him, putting his arms around his waist and his head up against his back. “And you like being just a bit scared, don’t you?”

“Yeah, used to it in my life, I suppose.” Sebastian paused and then added, “At least, I like it from you.”

That was all the consent he gave, but it was apparently enough for Jim. Something hit him, and every muscle in his body tried to lock– _Electricity? Taser?–_ and he blacked out.

When he came to again he couldn’t move. It took him a while to realize that part of it was his muscles not responding, but more of it was being tied up, bent over and restrained to himself by what felt like all the rope in the world.

“Boss?” he managed to groan. “Jim?”

A slick hand moved between his legs, and a voice he associated with strawberries, chocolate, and sparkling wine purred in his ear, “No. James Moriarty, Oxford boy. Did you miss me?”


	8. Earning His Stripes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fearplay, breathplay, knifeplay,  
> or is he playing?

He was bent over, wrists restrained to ankles, and ropes crisscrossing him from his neck down. He tried to move and found that moving too much in some directions started putting pressure on a band of rope around his neck–he stopped.

“I can’t get out of this,” Sebastian said, trying desperately to stay calm.

“That’s half the fun,” Jim–James–whispered in his ear. “So the question is: do you trust me?”

 _Yes… No…_ “That… depends,” he swallowed carefully, “on whether you consider yourself to be my boss, or someone else.”

“Ooooh,” Jim breathed out in a pleased sigh. That noise was so admiring and the sound sent a jolt right to his cock and he wanted to melt into it. “Oh, you ARE clever, aren’t you…”

“Sebastian.” He held out the name like it was a safety net.

“Alec,” James purred.

“I haven’t been him since Serbia.” Sebastian gulped. “Are you going to let me go?”

“Well, you see, I didn’t gag you… so, you COULD use your safe word… but…”

Sebastian waited; he didn’t say anything. James moved a slick hand around his balls and it was like a direct touch to the pleasure center of the brain.

“Fear, you know, is a survival reflex,” he said as a finger trailed around, and never entered, his asshole. He was tense from fear, but somehow that feeling was hypnotic…

“So, you see, you have a problem.”

“I think I have several.”

“If you use your safeword there are only two options: I won’t stop,”  he leaned forward again, and this time he whispered, “or I will.” A finger slipped inside of him; Sebastian tried to pull away, only to find himself pushing back into it. “And if I stop–if you use the safeword and I CHOOSE to stop–it’s over.” Another finger was added–somehow, he hadn’t tensed.

“I think I have questions…” Sebastian gasped.

“They can wait.”

He began to see the problem with deep cover, and why the psychology department always wanted them to talk when they came back from a mission: Sebastian Moran wanted to lie there and trust, let the man pet his scars and submit to anything he asked; Alec Trevelyan wanted to escape.

He’d just found a weak spot in the ropes, and started slowly working on it, when James did something that felt like a thin line of fire across one of his scars. _Knife_. He just had time to gasp and bite back his scream when James’ fingers moved inside him–and suddenly the pain transformed itself and he screamed, but not in pain. It got difficult to breathe, and everything went slow and liquid until James pushed him back into position against the ropes.

“Naughty, Alec, mustn’t try to escape,” James purred. “If you’re going to be MY Sebastian, I want those stripes to be mine… might take a while, I doubt we should do them all at once, hmm?”

Sebastian blinked at spots dancing in front of his eyes _. I… I should… try to... safeword… I think?_

And then James withdrew his fingers and slid into him like they were made to be together. _It never felt like this before… with any of the other men…_ and then James was moving and somehow hitting him perfectly with every stroke.

He could breathe…

Just not well.

Because every time he fell forward in his ropes he pulled against his throat, and he was dizzy and his whole world was spinning in ecstasy and James had his hand wrapped around him and he didn’t think it could get any better….

And when the knife drew across another whip scar, it sent him over the edge and nothing ever felt better in his life…

He came to lying face down in the bed, unrestrained. It felt like someone was bandaging his back?

“Whr?”

“Sebastian?” Jim’s voice, with an edge of concern.

“You’re back?” His throat felt thick and he didn’t think he could move, but he wasn’t going to try, either.

“I didn’t exactly leave… exactly...” Jim sighed.

“Do you remember?”

“Perfectly.” He sounded upset, and… like he didn’t want to apologize, but he thought he might need to.

“I’m alright… I think… depending on how deep the knife went.”

“Not deep. Enough to draw blood.”

“He? Uh, you…? Not sure how to…”

“It’s all me, just… that’s not a part I let out to play, often. “ Jim sounded guilty, and a bit worried. “He–I–can get out of control.” After a pause he continued, “It’s like being drunk or on drugs I suppose, it all seems perfectly sensible at the time and then later you wonder why on earth you ever thought that was a good idea…”

“Would you have stopped if I’d said ‘Three Roses’?” Sebastian asked quietly.

“I don’t know. I hope so.” Jim leaned down and kissed him gently behind the ear. “Why didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t sure I wanted you to stop… and then I was sure I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry that I hurt you,” he said, and then, grudgingly, “but I don’t like that someone else left scars like that on you… I suppose I see why he wanted…”

“You wanted me to be yours.”

He sighed. “Yes. I’ve always been a possessive soul.”

“Time was… before… that I wouldn’t have wanted to be anyone’s.”

“Has that changed?”

“I’ve been yours for a long time, now, I just…” Sebastian sighed as sleep pulled him down, “No more Tasers?”

He felt Jim smile into his neck, as he settled himself carefully next to Sebastian in bed. “No promises.”


	9. Bugspray and Sunscreen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an interlude in the life of a tiger and his boy

The cuts were, in fact, minor. For all that he’d been quite concerned at the time, he had to recognize that back in MI6 he wouldn’t have even gone to medical over a shallow, clean cut like that; of course, he wouldn’t have gone to medical for a broken leg, but medical would have thrown him OUT over those shallow cuts.

_They’d been something else at the time, though._

Sebastian could feel the aftershocks of pleasure whenever he thought about it too much. He wasn’t sure he liked that. He was fairly certain that enjoying being hurt was a bad thing.

Jim, of course, noticed.

“What’s bothering you Tiger?”

“I don’t…” He stopped before he could say “I don’t know what’s bothering me,”–because he did know. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“James?” Jim then grinned faintly, “I mean me.”

“Yes? I just can’t help but think that enjoying being cut is a bad sign.”

“People do.”

“I never used to.”

Jim looked up at him thoughtfully. “Have you ever been cut by someone you trusted, and cared for, who wasn’t betraying you?”

Sebastian thought about it. “No. Well, other than ‘I have to cut you to get that bullet out,’ or something.”

“So you never tried pain play or submission play for real, with a partner.”

“Unless you count interrogation resistance training, no.”

“Then it doesn’t count. You never did it before.” Jim nodded. “Look, the reason I have... issues… with letting James play is because if he doesn’t actually LIKE you he’s dangerous. It’s why the first time I made sure you could get loose AND had a safeword.”

Sebastian sat down next to him and pulled Jim into his side. He was reading some kind of math or physics book that looked like it might have been written in an alien script with English translations.

“So what happened the second time? I definitely couldn’t get out of those ropes.”

“Well, darling,” Jim put the book down and leaned back into him, “by then I knew he liked you.  As to the ropes? You didn’t need to teach me to tie people up so they COULDN’T get loose–I knew how to do that.”

“Very well, too.” Sebastian kissed him on the top of his head. “Someday I’ll have to tie you down for fun.”

“You tie me down quite enough, Sebie.”

“But not for fun; as you said, that’s different.”

“I’ll consider it, but… I’m a bit concerned about what it could trigger.”

*

Sebastian came home after an insanely boring sniper mission. It was one of those horrible ones where the weather was terrible, and every insect in the world had gotten a map to “immobile sniper buffet” and the target was late too. Jim had that intensely fascinated look that often meant it was time to worry.

“Jim? Please don’t make me tie you up again; I’m tired, and I itch.”

“No need.” _Oh, thank God, he sounded normal._

“Then what has you so intent? And can you tell me about it while I go bathe in anti-itch cream? Every damn insect on the planet had directions to my sniper hide,” he paused, “and hide.”

Jim just waved him off to the bath. When he came out, though, Jim had ordered in food.

“I thought you might not be up to cooking, based on what you said.”

“Good thought. Thank you.” He ate quickly at first and then forced himself to slow down. “So, what were you…?”

“I don’t honestly know what to think. An old… rival? playmate? …of mine seems to be back.”

“Back? Where was he?”

“I honestly thought he’d died. He dropped out of college and became a junkie. It was a horrible disappointment.”

Sebastian scratched at his arm idly.

“Stop that,” Jim scolded. “Don’t scratch. I’ll get you some antihistamines.”

“Oh no, I’ll be hyper–you don’t want to see that.”

“Most people sleep on antihistamines.”

“Not me, I go manic. Used to drive James up the wall, and the medical staff about killed me once. For some reason they didn’t like my disassembling the hospital bed, dunno why.”

Jim laughed, “Well, oatmeal bath?”

“Sure, I’ll try it. Anyway, this rival?”

“Oh, he almost solved my first murder!” Jim said brightly. “Luckily, we were both kids and no one believed him, but he knew it was a murder–no one else did.”

“You killed someone as a kid?” Jim worried for a moment but Sebastian sounded admiring.

Jim smiled at him, “Botulinum toxin in his eczema medication. He died of a seizure or something in full view of everyone at a swim meet.”

Sebastian’s eyes lit up with admiration. “Brilliant!” he breathed.

Jim preened. “I was a bit worried to tell you: most people don’t like it.”

“Jim, I kill people for you: why wouldn’t I?”

He looked thoughtful, “Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve just gotten used to people getting all twitchy when they find out I killed my first target before I was a teenager–well before.”

“Well, you’re a genius: you got an early start.”

Jim stared at him. “Hurry up and eat. I want to fuck you ‘til you see stars.”

~

There was more than one way to get your mind off an itch.

Eventually Sebastian remembered they’d been talking about… _some kid that had caught on?_ So, over breakfast he asked, “Jim? How did some other kid get the idea it was murder? Did he see you?”

“No, I never found out how, but when I caught up with him later he was several years ahead in college, blowing through classes when he bothered to show up.” Jim sounded sad, “Someone at my level, I thought… I thought maybe…”

“Then you thought he died?”

“I found him overdosed in one of the drug dens my people were taking over. He couldn’t even remember his name, laying there in a pool of vomit.” Jim was starting to sound angry. “I almost cut his throat, but I arranged for him to get to hospital.” He shook his head. “A complete waste: he went right back after rehab. I stopped watching him after that.”

“Addiction is rough,” Sebastian nodded. “But he’s clean now? Or what?”

“He’s apparently helping the MET solve cases or something.” Jim sighed, “I stumbled over his blog. He has a distinctive name.”

“Oh? He must be clean, then.”

“I just don’t understand why he’d throw it all away. He was brilliant, rich, beautiful, talented…”

“Jim…” Sebastian sighed. “First of all, some people have a genetic weakness to drugs, but ANYONE can become addicted if they need an escape badly enough.”

Jim snorted, “Rich, best schools money could buy, brilliant–”

“Rich doesn’t mean not abused or neglected, Jim.”

Jim froze. “Yes, it does.”

“NO, it doesn’t. I’ve seen rich families where the kids are neglected, and get more contact with the nanny than their parents, and I’ve seen rich families that beat their kids to death. Poverty adds a lot more stress, and more problems, but…” Sebastian sighed. “Besides, lots of kids self-medicate, and with enough money you can buy the good stuff.”

Jim frowned at him thoughtfully.

“He’s your kind of brilliant?” Sebastian asked after a long pause.

“Well, he was.”

“So… boredom then.” Sebastian shrugged, “Another reason to try drugs.”

Jim shuddered. _That was a curse word to him._

“But if he was down that far–a real junkie–and managed to climb back up? Helping to solve crimes, just like he did as a kid? Maybe it didn’t do too much damage.”

“Maybe…” Jim looked thoughtful.

“It takes a pretty strong person to beat an addiction–and usually a lot of help, too.”

“Do… Do you think…” Jim looked distant. “Maybe I could set up a test? See if he’s as still as smart as I think he was?”

“Sure,” Sebastian nodded. “Just not with drugs, or anything.”

“I could set up a nice interesting murder? See if he could solve it?”

“Sure, Jim,” Sebastian brightened up. _It was always better when he had a project_.

“Oh, and we have a big job in two weeks, the mission brief is on your desk.” Jim kissed him until he was breathless and wandered out.

Sebastian eventually made it to the mission brief…

_Oh, sodding hell, why did it say to pack sunscreen?_


	10. A Serpent in Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Non-con drug use, etc

Two weeks to the day after he got the file they were on their way to a tropical paradise resort, complete with glossy brochures. Alec twitched the whole time–Alec, not Sebastian–because this looked far too much like the old days.

Tropical paradises combined with business had long and ugly backstories for Double-O Six: beautiful women who’d put a knife in your back as soon as look at you; glittering wealth and crushing poverty; and the drugs–always. James Bond and he had cut a swath through places like this, separately or together, but the more beautiful the location, the lovelier the people, the more likely there was to be poison at the heart of it.

Jim seemed to like his hyper-alertness, but was less thrilled with his tendency to run off anyone who got too close.

“Sebie,” Jim said firmly, once they were back in their hotel room, “what’s gotten into you?”

“Old history,” he admitted, “before I got my stripes, Sir.”

That got an eyebrow raise. “Here?”

“Not this hotel, no, but… Let’s just say, almost all of the tropical paradises have people of my caliber working at any given time, and a lot of also-rans.” He looked worriedly at him, “I can’t even count how many pretty things in pretty places have tried to kill me–or James.”

“They don’t even know I’m worth killing, Sebastian,” Jim said calmly. “I’m just Jimmy Doyle, with a few bodyguards reporting to Moriarty to make sure I do my job.”

Sebastian just nodded and kept a wary eye in any case. He was one of three guards, and the only one who knew who Jim was.

Four weeks of meetings, standing behind Jim playing the dumb guard or watching through a sniper scope at drop points. They couldn’t stay in the same hotel room, but Sebastian got a room across the courtyard from Jim’s with a view of the conference room one floor down, as well as his hotel room.

Eight people were supposed to be making deals at the meetings–two died before they arrived, and three showed up unexpectedly, including one woman–plus they all had their own guards, and a lot of them had other staff as well. It made for a confusing mess of people and Sebastian wanted desperately to shoot them all.

“Fire those other two guards, Sir,” Sebastian suggested in the hotel room after one of the more heated meetings, in which “Jimmy Doyle” had mostly looked bored and read a men’s fashion magazine while three of the bigger players argued. “They keep getting distracted by that woman.” She was tall, slim, and brunette, dressed to impress in a tailored suit that enhanced her assets, and Sebastian knew she’d turn any man’s head–assuming they had no self-preservation instincts.

“Glad to see you aren’t, Tiger,” he smiled. “But she’s more your type, isn’t she?”

“Her?” Sebastian snorted, “No, although James would have her over the table in a heartbeat, because he’s suicidal that way.”

“Suicidal?”

“You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed…?”

“I know what I think Sebie, but I want to know what you think.”

“She’s here working for someone else. Everyone is supposed to think she’s a minor player on her own, but she’s actually playing honey trap–unlike most of them, though, she’s being aggressive and hard to get, so she’ll attract men who want a challenge. She carries herself like she thinks she’s good in bed, too.”

Jim stared at him. “That’s… remarkably good, Sebastian.”

He almost purred at the praise. “As I said, Sir, I’ve seen this kind of thing. She’s better than most at it, but it’s not new.”

“And you don’t want to bend her over a table?”

“No. Like I said, Sir, I had to do things like that for work, before–“

“You said rape.”

“This would be the other side of it: me trying to use her while she’s trying to use me.” He shrugged, “No thanks. I’ll leave it to James.”

“He likes it?”

Sebastian tried to figure out how to explain it. “No, he likes winning the game,” he finally said with another shrug. “He’s usually better than they are at it.”

“He’d have a tough time with her: she’s pretty far over on the scale,” Jim said with a smile.

“Sir?”

“She’s gayer than I am.” He laughed, “I expect she barely has any interest in men at all, certainly none of the ones here.”

“Noted. You should still fire the other two.”

“It was an employment test, of sorts: they both failed, anyway. Depending on how this goes, they’ll either simply not be rehired, or you can shoot them.” He pulled Sebastian down onto the bed. “Now come down here and purr for me, Tiger, it’s been a long few days.”

 

Today was the last meeting, then three days off if they wanted, and back to London. Sebastian wanted out of here so badly he could taste it. Jim had one of the dumb guards today for his in-person work. It was probably better that way: the slight degree of condescension toward him was genuine. He hated guarding the “little fag”, and had admitted as much to Sebastian. Sebastian wanted to gut him; Jim thought it was useful because the men he was meeting with knew the real Moriarty would never tolerate that kind of dismissal.

“Of course, they imagine the real Moriarty must be a taller, stronger fellow, and very straight.” Jim laughed. “You’re my back up plan, darling, you know that.”

Which is why he was sitting in his room, watching a meeting through a sniper scope.

The meeting went well enough, but then Jim had to let himself get seduced by that bitch. _It was part of some convoluted plan, of course, it had to be: Jim was gay._ Sebastian thought for a bit. _Alright, I’ve never see him with a woman other than for cover, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t bisexual–he DID say she was ‘gayer’ than he was, which implied at least some interest in women._ He swiveled the sniper scope to Jim’s bedroom, and watched.

 _Jim was definitely on top of his seduction game, but his act was all wrong. He was doing a shy submissive act and it was just WRONG… and that bitch was up to something. Still, if she was playing that aggressive, that might be the way to get to her._ Eventually Jim did something unthinkable: he closed the blinds.

_That wasn’t safe. Jim KNEW I couldn’t watch with the blinds shut. He obviously didn’t want to be interrupted. There were at least fifteen signals for various degrees of help, and he hadn’t used even one of them._

Sebastian thought about his orders to stay away and said “Fuck it.”

He was letting himself in with the spare key, when he heard the distinctive sounds of a riding crop on bare skin. He slipped in, silent as a shadow, and it was only long years of training that kept him from gasping.

Jim was tied to the bed, blindfolded, while the wickedly vicious looking woman hit him with a crop. She was naked except for her high heels. So far, none of the marks looked like they were permanent, but they all looked like they must hurt like hell. Sebastian wanted to intervene immediately–his training as Alec stopped him. He tracked around the room slowly… _Yes, there: a small video camera._ He slipped behind her as she was talking.

“You’ve been so very naughty, Jimmie, haven’t you?” She hit him. “Tell me who’s going to punish you when you get home?” She hit him again to punctuate the question.

Jim just gasped.

Sebastian turned off the camera. He moved up silently behind her. “Jim is a bit camera shy,” he said quietly as he put the gun to her neck. She was a sensible girl: she froze.

“Drop it and hands to your head, then down on your knees.”

“I don’t sub, darling,” she said in what would probably be a distractingly sexy voice to anyone who hadn’t had women just like this try to kill him at least five times.

“Not my problem.” He backed up. “Jim?”

Jim didn’t respond, other than a low moan. He was completely covered in welts and bruises.

“He’s here voluntarily,” the woman said, “and, right now, he’s begging to be hit some more.”

“Maybe.”– _Although I doubt it_ –“But the camera is off limits.”

“He’s your boss isn’t he, ask him,” she purred, “or are you his?”

“Jim? Are you alright?” Jim lay there and panted; he didn’t answer. “What have you done to him?” Sebastian hissed.

“Nothing! Tell him, Jimmie, tell him you wanted this.” She pitched her voice persuasively, “Tell him you want this.” Jim was shivering violently.

“He didn’t safe word,” she said, starting to sound uncertain.

“Did you drug him?”

“No.”

“You’re lying,” Sebastian said with certainty. “I’m going to cripple you.”

“It’s harmless!” she said rapidly, “Just a hypnotic and it makes you a bit… uninhibited.”

Sebastian thought about the effects that might have on someone with Jim’s problems. “If you’re very, very lucky, he’ll kill you.”

“He’s just a minor player,” she whispered. “You’re obviously higher up... I was hired to get information on Moriarty, that’s all.”

Sebastian watched the flicker of awareness and a frown on Jim’s face as the name Moriarty was said, and he smiled.

“Lie down, keep your hands on your head, and lie down flat! I’m untying ‘Jimmie’ and if you move I will hamstring you.”

He kept the gun trained on her as he untied Jim. Jim whimpered. He put Jim into the chair and watched as he curled in on himself.

“Get on the bed, bitch. You better hope he recovers soon.”

She got up on the bed, watching him warily. She expected him to lock her into the restraints she’d obviously brought in her suitcase. He opened the bottom drawer of the dresser and brought out the restraints that would hold a Double-O. He tossed her the cuffs. “Wrists.”

She stared at them. The padding was generous, but the cuffs were no joke. “You can put them on, or I can cut the tendons in your hands and legs,” he said calmly. She put them on­–the leg shackles, too. Sebastian refused to travel without the means of securing Jim if he had an episode, after all. The restraints were comfortable as hell, and completely unable to be escaped without the right tools.

 With some reluctance, he left her ungagged–since his only real gag, one that would block screaming, was Jim’s gag–and secured her to the bed before he went back to Jim.

“Jim? Jim, can you hear me?” Jim just made a small strangled noise. Sebastian picked him up carefully and moved him into his lap. He kept him upright just in case he had trouble breathing. He was badly beaten, and Sebastian wanted to kill her.

“Whatever the fuck you gave him–“ Sebastian growled.

“It’s harmless!” Her eyes were wide.

“Unless you give it to someone with a prior medical condition,” he snarled at her. Jim rolled his head back and bared his throat; he tried to giggle, it came out as a rasping wheeze.

“Jim? Jim come back,” Sebastian said quietly.

“Wh-what medical? It just lowers inhibitions- makes you susceptible…”

“And if he comes out of this by morning, he decides what happens to you.” Sebastian held the gun casually but kept it aimed at her. “If not? I decide, and I’m a protective bastard.”

She looked at Sebastian, holding Jim protectively in his arms, and shivered.

Sometime in the early morning hours, Jim murmured, “Sebastian?” weakly.

“I’m here, Jim.”

Jim curled back into him and fell asleep.

Sebastian held him carefully, and watched the woman with cold green eyes.


	11. Adverse Side Effects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why no, i don't like BBC Irene.

“Sebastian?” Jim croaked sometime after the sun had come up on the other side of the blinds.

“Jim, are you awake? Are you back?”

“I hurt like hell, what happened?”

“The bitch on the bed drugged you, and then tied you down and beat you.” He felt Jim’s body tensing in his arms. “Let me get you some drink, Sir.” Sebastian carefully moved him into the chair, tucking the blanket around Jim as he stood up. He went and got out some bottled drinks and emergency food– the blandest they had.

Sebastian carefully knelt next to the chair, getting him ice, and helping him drink. “I don’t know what she gave you,” he said quietly. “She said it was a hypnotic, and harmless, but I was afraid to give you pain medicine.”

She was awake again watching them, her eyes darting between Sebastian and Jim.

“If you scream right now, darling, I’ll cut out your vocal chords,” Jim smiled darkly at her. “Save your screaming for when I can appreciate it.” _Oh, thank God, that sounded more like it._

She stared at him, and then her glance flickered again to Sebastian. “I have far too much–“

“Gag the bitch,” Jim hissed.

She started to scream and Sebastian hit her, hard, across the face. Before she could finish recovering he had Jim’s gag in her mouth.

“Pity, now I’ll have to replace my gag,” Jim said tiredly.

“She had a camera aimed at you. I turned it off.”

“Search the room, she probably planted bugs. Unfortunately I don’t remember anything at all from… somewhere in the middle of the conference.”

Sebastian began searching the room. He found two bugs and flushed them. “Done, Sir. Would you like to see the camera?”

“Not really, but I need to.”

Jim watched the replay with increasing tension, finally handing it back to Sebastian. “I can’t watch the rest right now.”

Sebastian nodded and put it away.

Jim sighed and looked at the woman on the bed. “Sebastian? Call the meeting guests, all of them: they come to my room, NOW; if they’ve left, recall them.”

“Yes, sir.” He did.

~

The woman’s eyes got wider and she looked like she was trying to figure it all out.

Jim got dressed, slowly; it hurt to move, and he fell once. Sebastian very carefully picked him up from the floor. Jim saw him glare death at the woman on the bed.

Jim had Sebastian help him over to the bed as the men were being called into the outer room of the suite. “Were you planning on beating me to death? Just having my breathing stop from your drug? Or was I going to be dead of an overdose somewhere after you were done torturing me?” She was shaking her head desperately no. “It doesn’t matter,” he said tiredly. “I’ll have the truth out of you eventually.”

After a while Sebastian came in. “The other guards are here, and so are most of the meeting attendees.”

Jim nodded. “Bring them in.”

Jim watched as they came in, to find one of their number stripped and bound on the bed. A few tried to protest, several took advantage of the opportunity to ogle and leer.

“I’ve spoken to Mr. Moriarty,” Jim said tiredly, and he watched the woman’s face show confusion and fear. “He doesn’t take kindly to his representative being drugged during a meeting.” He was watching, carefully. “So, first of all, all of our agreements are null and void. I don’t even remember most of the last meeting. If you want to deal with Mr. Moriarty, then you will have to make new arrangements.”

One of the bolder ones spoke up, “The last meeting was mostly a formality, the arrangements were done before that!”

“Sebie?” he said tonelessly.

Sebastian nodded, “Sir?”

“He’s an idiot, but he wasn’t behind this: don’t kill him yet.”

The room full of people tensed.

One of the older ones in the room said, “If you were foolish enough to get drugged, maybe Mr. Moriarty will simply get rid of YOU.”

Jim shrugged– his eyes dull. “Oh, yes. I’m a dead man; what of it?”

No one expected that answer. Jim looked at them tiredly. “Whoever finds and kills the people responsible for hiring this woman? Will be able to get an appointment with Mr. Moriarty in the future–otherwise? I advise you to only contact him if you have something truly worth his while.”

Sebastian threw them all out, all but the two other guards.

Jim sighed, “Sebie? Kill them.”

Sebastian fired twice and they fell- neat holes in their heads and surprised looks on their faces. The woman screamed, but the gag did a marvelous job of silencing her.

“Phone.” Jim held out his hand and Sebastian handed him the phone. Jim began texting orders. “Take her to the bathroom and clean her up for travel. I’ll bring our people in. We’re leaving.

“Yes, Sir.”

~

She tried to seduce him, doing a good job of it with just body language and pleading looks. He laughed at her. “Save your strength.” He got out the tranquilizers he had in case of a bad episode from Jim and gave her a shot. “If you’re religious, you might try praying for a lethal allergy.”

He watched as she slipped peacefully to sleep, breathing steadily and easily. _Nope, she wasn’t that lucky._

Two hours later they were on the plane, the woman unconscious and cuffed, Sebastian sleeping in the large chairs with Jim sleeping curled into his arms. Sebastian kept waking to check his condition; Jim slept straight through to London.

~

The woman spent a week in isolation in one of his cells while he reviewed the tapes, recovered, and Sebastian and he both caught up on sleep. In addition, several people from the meeting were picked off by his people, and the rest had carefully untraceable prices put on their heads.

Jim smirked and passed the locations of some of them to the trouble-making genius deep in Special Security. He may not have had a name just yet, but he knew how to get information to him.

Eventually, he felt well enough to see the woman.

Sebastian dragged her out of the hole she was in and chained her in the middle of the room.

“It was supposed to be harmless! People use it all the time!” She was pleading at Sebastian as Jim sat quietly with his coffee. _She still thought Sebie was in charge: how amusing. I suppose he made an impression._

“Unless you already take drugs with similar side effects, or you’re sensitive to the effects, or–oh, just as a guess– you give someone a drug with a side effect of depressed breathing and then hit them repeatedly with a stick while their arms are tied out so they can’t breathe properly,” Jim smiled politely at her.

“You had a safe word! You never used it!”

“Did I? Funny, I don’t remember.”

Sebastian came over to him. “How many pieces do you want her in, Boss?”

“Boss?” She looked back and forth again. “Seriously?”

“Oh, yes, dear. I’m Sebastian’s boss. I suppose you must have thought it was the other way around?” Jim smiled. “Poor Jimmy Doyle, with Sebastian here reporting on me to Moriarty? Yes, that’s what we wanted everyone to think.”

Sebastian, bless his dear loyal heart, dropped to one knee next to Jim and bowed his head–without taking his eyes off her, though. Jim started dragging his fingers through his Tiger’s hair.

“You... said you spoke to Mr. Moriarty…” she whispered.

“I did.”

“No, you didn’t, I watched you both!” She was trying so hard to deny it.

He just smiled and sipped his coffee. _Say what you wanted, she wasn’t stupid._ Her legs gave out, leaving her dangling for a moment from her wrists, until she got her feet under her.

“You? You’re Moriarty?” Her voice was shriller than her usual controlled tone, but, then, a week in solitary took it out of a person–even without finding out who he was.

“Yes. Congratulations, you came very close to killing me. Out of courtesy, I may let you choose how you want to die–any favorites?”

“Old age?” she said with a hysterical edge.

“Oh… I doubt that. That could be several decades of agony.”

She shivered, “You wanted it… it wasn’t supposed to–“

“You bore me. I’ll be back in a month.” He got up to go.

“I’ll tell you who hired me!”

“Yes, you will.” Jim shrugged.

“I can help you!” she said desperately, “I have all sorts of useful contacts!”

“I’ll see you in a month.” Sebastian put her back in her cell, and Jim and Sebastian walked out. He looked at the guard. “Lights on all the time in her cell, now. She’s to run at a twice speed clock: you know the drill.” He looked firmly at the men, “And no physical contact at all: remember, I’ll skin anyone who so much as touches her hand.”

Sebastian nodded, “We come back in two weeks?”

“Yes. After that I’ll decide if she gets to keep breathing or not.” Jim looked up at him, “Do you want her? You could have a pet…”

“Why would I want her when I have you?”

“I see who you look at, Tiger: you prefer women.”

“I prefer YOU.”

Jim just quirked a smile, “I did want you for your loyalty.”

“Yes, Sir.” Sebastian smiled, “So now that we’re back in cold, overcast London, and your bruises don’t hurt as much, why not spend a few days lying in bed on vacation?”

“I could bring in a sun lamp, and some sand,” Jim laughed.

“You’re Irish and I’m Russian– what’s this ‘sunlight’ stuff?”

“Something ordinary people like.” Jim grinned, “As opposed to a dark pub and good music.”

Jim still spent most of his time on the computer or the phone, managing things, but by the end of two weeks, Sebastian knew four songs, and a lot of dirty words, in Irish, and had discovered that Jim was one hell of a wingman in an Irish pub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> too be blunt, the Irene Adler in the BOOKs the Arthur Conan Doyle Irene Adler was indeed, "The Woman" brave, loyal, smart... and only blackmailing the ONE man out of necessity, after he behaved like a royal CAD.
> 
> The BBC Irene was a rapist, a blackmailer of innocent people, drugged people without concern for adverse effects, and in general did not deserve any affection or respect at all from Sherlock.


	12. Lions and Tigers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> old friends in strange places

After two weeks, most of the men from the meeting were dead. Sebastian had to admit that Jim’s opposite number in the Secret Security was very good, because at least one of the men had hidden well enough that Jim hadn’t been able to find him.

There were two left, and one of them was the one who had hired the woman. Jim was emphatic about wanting to be the one who took him out.

“Want to knife the bitch before we go?” Sebastian asked him. “It has been two weeks.”

“No, the woman can wait. I updated the instructions.” He shrugged, “She might be useful, once she knows who she belongs to. I might need a girl to seduce someone: not EVERYONE is susceptible to my charms, after all.”

Sebastian grinned. “I don’t believe that. I have no interest in other men at all, and you can seduce me any time.”

Jim kissed him. “Not everyone has your magnificent taste, Tiger.”

It took them three more days to find out where the man was holed up: apparently someone else had gotten there first, and failed.

“Good news is, they thinned the guards, and took out a lot of the security,” Sebastian noted quietly to Jim. He was communicating to Jim by earpiece; as usual, he would be the sniper safeguard. He nodded to the other two snipers, “{Find good positions, and stay silent on the line unless it’s urgent.}” From now on, all communication would be in Russian.

Jim–in persona as Moriarty’s Russian accountant–nodded. “{Go in. As many as possible are to be taken alive. Moriarty’s instructions were quite clear.}”

It was always eerie to see this persona: to hear the quiet accent-less Russian. Sebastian shivered and remembered cold cells and abandonment.

Somehow Jim knew. The line that only went between the two of them buzzed softly, “Easy, Tiger, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes, Sir.” He hated how his voice sounded, meek and shaken. Sebastian shook himself and headed for a good sniper spot.

The men inside had a prisoner. _Good, that would keep them busy._ He told everyone on the open channel and went back to watching Jim–stationed outside in the bulletproof car, waiting for the building to be secured.

Shortly afterward, there was a battle.

The other two snipers were firing, of course, picking off the dangerous people, the ones who might have escaped. The men recruited for this–Russian mobsters, mostly–were waging a battle inside, but they had surprised the targets and it was inevitable who would win. The demand that many be captured alive was the only thing evening the odds at all.

One of the targets managed to escape into the parking lot.

“{Want that one alive, Boss?}”

“{If you please.}”

Sebastian shot him through the leg, and then smiled as he recognized one of the men from the meeting. Sebastian shot him through the other leg, taking out his knee, and then through his gun hand.

“{Boss? I think that’s your present. Want any other parts picked off?}”

Jim’s voice shifted from the cool, light voice of the accountant to a darker tone. “{Why, THANK you Sebastian, how kind of you! Both knees, both hands, please.}”

Sebastian smiled and complied. “{All yours.}”

Jim got out of the car and Sebastian scanned carefully for threats. The sounds of the gunfire inside the building were fading to occasional pops.

~

“Hello, Roger,” Jim said pleasantly as he moved into sight of the man. Rogers’s knees were a lost cause, but Jim supposed his hands might have been able to be repaired by a skilled surgeon–not that he would ever see one.

“Doyle…?” Roger rasped.

“Well, no, not today. Today I’m someone else, but I was Jimmy Doyle the last time we met. You hired that woman to drug me.”

“I- I didn’t–“

Jim smiled and kicked him. “Don’t bother lying to me, Roger. You can die very slowly, you know.”

“She was just supposed to seduce you, get information about Moriarty… No harm done…”

“Except that you know that if anyone did give up information on Moriarty, their death would be … interesting. The Tiger would see to that.”

Roger couldn’t even look him in the eye to deny that.

“You said you were a dead man, you seem to have come out alright.”

Jim laughed. “What was I going to say, Roger? In any event, it sounds like the battle is over.”

He tried to move, and gasped, then snarled, “We caught Moriarty’s agent at least. Damned bastard–“

“Oh? You mean whoever got here ahead of me? No, not one of ours. I look forward to meeting him though.” Jim walked into the building. “Target practice, Tiger,” he said, loudly enough that Roger could hear it. “Have fun.”

Jim heard a series of shots hitting behind him as he entered the building, and screams.

Jim’s persona dropped over him like a cloak as he entered the building. There were a lot of bodies, and a lot of wounded. He recognized one of the badly wounded as Roger’s bodyguard from the meeting. He would never survive those injuries, best to get that dealt with. He nodded at one of the men and softly said, “{Mercy, to that one,}” nodding. One of the men shot him and he stopped moaning.

“{If that’s mercy, why take so many prisoners?}” a rough voice asked in Russian.

Jim moved to see who had spoken; one of his men nodded at a prisoner bound to a chair. Jim raised an eyebrow and moved closer. He’d been beaten, and probably electrocuted, and was secured with metal cuffs to a metal chair that was in turn bolted to the floor. He looked like he was two steps from falling over, and utterly deadly. He reminded Jim of the first time he’d seen his Tiger, except…

_This man still had fire. He wasn’t resigned, or waiting to die–he was waiting to get loose and kill._

“{Oh… Now, aren’t you pretty…}” Jim breathed.

The man looked startled, and a bit puzzled at him. “{Your accent is very strange.}” He was doing his best to glare through the black eyes at Jim. “{And I don’t think I look very ‘pretty’ right now.}”

“{Meanwhile ,you have a practiced accent, but it’s not true–who sent you?}”

A sort of rusty laugh came out of him, “{I’ll never tell you. So are you planning on finishing what they started?}”

At that point Sebastian’s voice came over his earpiece, in English. “Sir! Sir, please… Don’t let them hurt him!”

Jim frowned and held up a hand at the men. Tilting his head he spoke in Russian, “{What’s so urgent?}”

Sebastian got himself back under control and continued in Russian, “{Sir, that’s my **James**.}”

Jim looked back at the man in the chair and his eyes went wide. “James Bond?” he said in English, with his Russian accent showing through. “MI6’s very own? Truly?”

The Russians moved uneasily, and two of them clearly expected to shoot the Englishman. James picked him head up as best he could and looked levelly at Jim, saying nothing.

“{Sir–Jim–please…}” Sebastian was pleading in his ear.

“{Calm down, Tiger, I won’t hurt your British Lion…}” Jim waved at the men. “{You may take the rest of the survivors. I’m sure they know useful things. Leave.}” Jim smiled at the man in the chair, and waited.

James Bond watched through bruised eyes as the men left, dragging their prisoners with them. “So what happens to me?” he asked, calmly, the pretense dropped as a voice like whiskey spoke English with a faint–just a faint–burr of Scotland.

“I’ve been told you’re a very persuasive man, Mister Bond.” Jim smiled, “I’ve also been told you don’t find men unappealing.”

Bond blinked several times. “You have interesting information,” he nodded, “but being a prisoner tends to reduce my interest.”

Sebastian’s voice came firmly over the line, “First of all, the other snipers are gone: no more eyes on the building. Secondly, he’s lying: seducing you now is textbook James.” A pause, and then, “Sir, seriously, it’s what he does. I’m coming in with a tranquilizer.”

Jim listened with half an ear as he walked up to Bond. “My advisor doesn’t think I can trust you,” he smiled, “I don’t think so, either, but I admit to curiosity.”

“Curiosity killed the cat…” Bond said in a challenging fashion. _Oh, yes, he must have known how that would get my interest. Well played._

“You’re very good at the game, James, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to play too…” Jim carefully moved onto Bond’s lap, bracing himself more on the chair to spare the injuries to his legs. He saw the flicker of the eyes as Bond braced for the pain, and the puzzlement and faint appreciation as he realized what Jim was doing.

“Well, you’re more of a gentleman than most…” Bond purred, or growled, up at him.

Jim could see Sebastian walking up behind him, and Bond tried to turn his head to see. Jim simply took his face in his hands and moved in for a kiss.

Bond was chained to a chair, beaten to within half an inch of his life, and took complete charge of the kiss in the first moment. Jim felt himself melting, just a bit. _I want this man in my bed. Ooooh, to have my Tiger under me and this Lion taking me at the same time…_

Bond slowly went limp under him, his eyes closing. Jim pulled back from the kiss and looked up. Sebastian was standing there capping a needle and putting a hand to Bond’s pulse.

“Tiger, your descriptions did NOT do him justice!”

Sebastian snorted, and kept his hand on the man’s neck. He shrugged and took out two foam earplugs and put them in his ears, and then blindfolded him.

“A bit extreme, don’t you think? You did drug him…”

“We both have very high tolerances, Sir, and I couldn’t give him much with those injuries.” Sebastian said softly, “Thank you.”

“I’d love to have a matched pair,” Jim sighed.

“He’d seduce you and capture you, or at least seduce a guard and kill the rest. He has no reason to leave MI6.” Sebastian said sadly, “I just want him to be safe.” A sad smile flashed over his face, “As safe as he ever is, anyway.”

“Anything for my Tiger. Help me unlock him; we’ll take him to the hospital,” Jim nodded. Sebastian kissed Jim’s hand and got to work.

He watched as Sebastian handled him with care and caution, as though he would wake up at any moment, despite his injuries and the drugs. Jim thought about Sebastian’s tolerances. _Maybe he would._

They left him in a wheelchair outside, and Jim called security to come get him.

Sebastian spent the rest of the night making it clear how grateful he was.

Jim dreamed about Siberian Tigers, and British Lions, and cursed his opposite number in Intelligence for having enough sense not to throw that one away… yet.

 


	13. Something with Whiskers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Irene, and a date over math equations

Jim and Sebastian returned to England–and to the prisoner. She’d been in solitary nearly three weeks, with her time cues being deliberately accelerated to feel like twice that–assuming she had any time cues left at all. She’d had no human contact of any kind, except for meal delivery.

Jim was certain she was well on the way to madness by now.

He had her food drugged. Once she was unconscious, Sebastian hauled her out and, between the two of them, she was cleaned, her wounds treated, and her hair detangled. Jim had her secured to a comfortably padded table and dimmed the lights.

~

She woke up to a hallucination of touch. _Someone was stroking her gently, but firmly–this was one of the better dreams._ Eventually, she heard a voice, too.

“Irene? You need to come back, now,” the voice said. It was a pleasant voice, male and Irish. _I wonder where I got that voice from?_

Hands moved her over; she tried to fight–facing up meant lights that she could never block out–but the hands were determined, and she was turned over. She gasped: it was dim… “Dark?” _Oh, oh, it wasn’t bright…_

“Yes, Irene, I turned the lights down.”

The hands stroked over her again–she arched into it–then there was a flash of pain as someone twisted her nipple and she shrieked. The hands resumed kneading and rubbing at her. The pain had cleared her head a bit more.

“You need to come back, now,” the voice said. She made an effort and focused… _There was a man… There was a man touching her– It was real, not a hallucination!_

With a sudden rush she remembered him: the man from the hotel, the one she’d drugged–the one who’d left her in the cell.

~

It took longer than Jim had expected to bring her back up to coherence, but she began begging and pleading very sincerely once she was back. Jim went over the new rules with her. It took a while, but on the third repetition she seemed to be able to follow it.

“… and if I tell you to do something, darling, you do it. Other than that? You get to have your own life, and go on about your business. You only have to call me if ANYTHING at all crosses into my business.”

“Yes, Sir,” she nodded frantically, keeping her eyes on him and clutching his hand.

“You understand what happens if I ever think you’re being a disobedient pet?”

She shivered violently, “Yes, Sir, I understand.”

“Good. Then Sebastian will help you to recover and get back to your London apartments. I’ll need you as an escort in a few weeks–Sebastian will give you the dates–so make sure you’re presentable by then.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” She swallowed hard. Jim smiled his lazy, predatory smile at her and watched her cower.

Sebastian took over; handling her with all the enthusiasm he might show for a dead fish. Jim smiled and started cleaning up all the business he’d let slip in the last little while. Dealing with this had been such a chore.

Partway through the next week, he realized with a start that he had almost forgotten his appointment tomorrow with that delectable young man at Cambridge. He wasn’t a Tiger–or a Lion–but he was certainly an adorable and interesting fellow. Jim spent the rest of the day cleaning up business, and idly trying to figure out if Benjamin fit into any animal motifs.

*

James Ó Muircheartaigh, research professor of Mathematics at Cambridge, and totally NOT the most dangerous man in England, was meeting with one of his favorites. Benjamin Walsh was the name on his records and his identification, but Jim recognized a good cover identity when he saw one. If Ben had come to Cambridge trying to talk to James, he would have assumed the worst, but, as it was, James found him by accident months ago when he went to invite the Dean of Computing to lunch, and ended up dragged into a discussion on cryptography and computer algorithms in security–a fascinating discussion, made more so by the fact that “Benjamin” was clearly gay. Unlike most of the intelligent creatures around Cambridge, however, Benjamin was not his student, which meant that it was permissible to invite him out. He hadn’t managed to get him into bed yet, but he was interesting conversation in any case.

They were deep in conversation about security ciphers when Ben’s phone rang. Jim grinned at the ring tone, and Ben flushed, “I have to take this.” He muttered and answered, “I’m not in the office, what is it?” A frown crept over his face, “Now? Well… I suppose you could pick me up at the university, I’m at Cambridge.” He sighed, “When is it NOT urgent, –” Jim heard him choke off a name. “Math College, I’ll meet you out front.” He hung up and visibly sagged as he put the phone away.

“Whose ring tone rates ‘Sin’ by Nine inch Nails?” James asked with a grin.

“Uh… his name is James, too.” Ben flushed even more.

“So is he the reason I never got anywhere flirting with you?”

Benjamin looked up with wide eyed shock, “You’ve been flirting?!”

James couldn’t help it: he started laughing. “YES, Ben, I’ve been flirting. I’ve been trying to get you to go on a date, or almost anything, since the second time we MET.” Once he stopped laughing so much, he added, “I don’t meet many interesting people who aren’t my students.”

“Oh, my God.” Ben sagged into a chair, “I– I didn’t notice.” _He was utterly and unquestionably sincere–it was adorable. Maybe he was a mouse? No, he didn’t seem like a mouse… but he was horribly nearsighted…_ Jim pictured a mortified furry creature with glasses and fought not to giggle.

“Wounded!” he said clutching his chest in mock pain. “Utterly wounded!”

“I would actually love to go out with you,” Ben said solemnly. Jim pictured his whiskers twitching sincerely. “I’m afraid the other James is one of those people where going out with him would be an utter disaster–”

“But you want to,” James grinned. _Ferret? Mongoose? Yes, more like that._

“Oh, hell yes, but, first of all, we work together, and secondly, I know his track record.” He said sadly, “I’d be yesterday’s news before the door closed in the morning.”

“Ouch!” James nodded. “Well, I don’t know how long-term I’d be interested in, but I don’t meet many people I can talk high end equations with, so I would definitely want to keep talking to you, and the fact that you aren’t a student is critical.” _When did it become so very amusing to line people up with animals? Besides, what if he was a bird or something? No… no… definitely something furry, with that mop of hair. Besides, the whiskers were a requirement._

“So, umm… the usual day next week?”

“Sure, call me if you get time before then, as you know my schedule is flexible.” James grinned. “I can take you out to lunch or dinner.”

James showed Ben out and got out his binoculars. He’d pulled a few strings to get this office. It was in an odd corner and had some extra space, but–more importantly–it had a perfect view of the comings and goings from the mathematics department. Jim settled down to watch. After all, if he could find out the license plate he could find out where Ben worked that had such a good false identity; as a plus, he could see what kind of man Ben was attracted to.

He watched a sleek silver car pull up in front of Ben. Ben struggling with his computer bag, and a bit of food–so this was business and he didn’t expect to get fed. _Rude of the man; he could at least treat Ben to lunch or something._ A man in high end casual wear came around the car. Jim’s attention sharpened and he focused the binoculars. That man moved too well.

Jim gasped.

_James… His name was certainly James… Ben worked for MI6, and merited being picked up by the British Lion himself…_

“You certainly do have good taste in men, Benjamin darling, but who are you that you work with him enough to have him call you off duty?”

Benjamin most assuredly had a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since i am adding a new POV character (not just for part of one chapter) i am closing "the Tyger" and opening the next story arc as "The Lion" yes, a lot more POV James Bond....


End file.
